The Mysteries of Marcie Fleach: Chapter 10-The Silence of the Labs
by Sketchpad
Summary: The search for Marcie's mother leads her back to Gatorsburg, where mad scientists and secrets abound, and love could be the greatest trap of all.
1. Chapter 1

_1~_

"I have it under good authority that Marcie Fleach is still among the living," Greenman told Quest while visiting him in the office he was using in another secret facility. "I am truly surprised."

"No more than I," Benton admitted with a sigh, putting down his paperwork "Even though Crystal Cove is hardly what I would call a proving ground for my prototype, I, at least, expected for it to be returned for physical analysis. It was completely lost according to the tech team's reports. Meaning she was very lucky, or very resourceful."

Greenman gave a dispassionate shrug, but it was colored with a secret concern. She was just a slip of a girl, and couldn't possibly be that great a threat to his plans, but Marcie was starting to prove the gods' caution with every encounter. Could she actually undo...everything? For country? For the world? For a father's love?

Greenman bowed his head slightly. Even he could understand that, but now wasn't the time for the past.

"In any event," Benton said, bringing Greenman back into the present. "I doubt that you came here just to complain about a botched hit."

"True, enough. How goes progress on the T.H.R.O.B.A.C.? Is it viable?"

"It's coming along," Benton said, simply. "My _other_ tech teams are acquainting themselves well to the Sundial technology, and it should up and running soon."

"Excellent. Keep me apprised on the work. Remember, the sooner it's completed, the sooner you can use it, yourself."

 _'Use it, myself...and_ keep _it all to myself,'_ Quest thought, while he gave his guest an empty smile.

Greenman turned to leave the man's office, and reached the doorway, when a touch of curiosity struck him, and he asked, "By the way, what ever happened to the tech team you sent me to maintain the Questoid, after their report?"

"I had them fired, of course," Quest said. Greenman's eyes followed Benton's gesture to a table on the far side of the office displaying five brass funeral urns.

"Would you like to see their resumes?" Quest asked, innocently.

* * *

There was a bar, an establishment, in Gatorsburg, that had a reputation among its clientele. Although most businesses were, to a greater, or lesser extent, alligator-based, or themed, this place set itself apart decades ago, by catering to one specific customer base.

Named _The Dirty Test Tube_ , it was the region's most well-known watering hole for scientists and mad scientists, alike.

Scholars, learned men, and degree-carriers, most of a disreputable stripe, and some, not so, would leave their morals and immorality at the door, to enjoy drinks and unwind from either trying to save, or improve the world, or conquering, and/or destroying it. At least, in theory, that was the idea.

In practice, good scientists might band together to enforce order, whenever a darker member of their number would harass, or attempt a non-consensual experiment on someone.

When that happened, the bar would very quickly demonstrate the principle of chaos theory in action. Physics collided with disagreements in scientific methodology, and political or moral ideology. In short, weird science met knuckle-dusting.

At this particular moment, the patrons were behaving themselves, and were respectful, if not watchful, of each other, but they all knew that a mad scientist bar brawl was just a bombastic insult away.

The front door opened, releasing strong afternoon sunshine into the otherwise dimly-lit cantina, outlining the silhouette of a stranger.

The shadow that fell across the floor was indicative of a typical customer, unkempt hair, glasses, thin body, however, as was ever the case, not everything was as it seemed.

Marcie Fleach had never entered a bar before. She knew, before she ever set foot in one, that she would be carded, and told to leave, besides, she never had a reason to go into one, until now.

She had to admit, however, as she took a tentative step into this strange world of science and adult recreation, that as bars went, it wasn't half bad.

The decor was made in the 60's idea of the future, lighting, white tables, colored, padded chairs and booths, all constructed in the style of the late Atomic Age. Years of neglect and the odd financial hiccup, however, had dulled everything within with failing electrical systems, dirt, stains from spilled drinks, and cracked leather padding.

The only place where color still truly lent itself was behind the bar counter, where a great bubbling, shiny, chromatic display of interconnected chemistry glassware stood, covering the entire backwall. It flowed, filled, mixed, channeled, percolated, chilled, warmed and stored the establishment's drinks.

The teen walked in, eyeing the patrons, and trying not to stare at them. She had seen enough movies that had bar scenes in them to know that sort of thing was usually frowned upon. She also knew that she was being watched, herself.

The bartender, a heavy set man clad in a stained lab coat, a monocle, and a graying handlebar mustache, noticed her and sized her up, before she even reached the counter.

Teenager-therefore illegal to serve alcohol to. Stranger-since he made it his business, if not hobby, to remember and recognize his customers, and hadn't seen her before. And science buff-since she couldn't have just wandered in here without knowing who frequented the place. The odds wouldn't support it.

"What can I do for you?" he asked. "You understand that I can't serve you, here."

"That's alright," Marcie told him. "I'm just looking for information."

The bartender gave a rumbling chuckle, looking out onto the drinking area. "That's all we traffic in, it seems. Info, data, ideas. If you can't get answers, here, you're not trying hard enough. Now, how can I help you?"

Marcie checked around her immediate surroundings, making sure she wasn't eavesdropped on, though, she figured, considering the clientele, the room was probably bugged.

"I'm looking for someone named Lab Rat. I heard that she lives in Gatorsburg, and I'm trying to contact her."

Whatever happened in Gatorsburg before she arrived, Marcie had no clue as to the power of that name as a trigger. When one patron heard the name, she gasped and, by reflex, said it out loud, causing a chain reaction of raised voices in the bar, some praising Lab Rat, others cursing her.

"What do you want to know about that _rat_?" asked a bald man with a black goatee, elfin ears, a buttoned up lab coat, and a sneer so pronounced, Marcie could see it in the dark.

She nodded to herself. _'Yep, definitely a mad scientist type,'_ she thought.

"I take it from the tone of your voice that you don't think to highly of my moth-" Marcie had to stop herself from saying 'mother' to the person who sounded like Lab Rat was not only on his top-ten hit list, but any known relations would probably be, as well.

Luckily, the bald man didn't seem to notice the near faux-pas. "Yeah! She found out I was stealing animal DNA, and she had me reported to the authorities. Do you know how hard it was to find rhino and cheetah genes?"

"You should have gone through proper channels, Deeds," another scientist chimed in. "You're always doing that. Not respecting the law to further your experiments and schemes."

"That's it!" Deeds yelled, while standing from his chair in challenge. "I had it with you goody-goody types. It's bad enough that I have to drink with you, but I have to listen to your sanctimonious drivel, too? The gloves come off!"

He glanced malevolently at Marcie. "I have to thank you, kid. It was getting a tad boring in here, today."

"Thanks, I think," Marcie muttered, wondering what this man's problem was.

"I noticed that you tried to stop yourself from saying that Lab Rat was your mother," Deeds continued. "But you're too late. If I can't get to her, then, I guess you're the next best thing."

Marcie reached into her wool jacket, and issued a warning. "Listen, I just want to find my mother. I didn't come here to start a fight, but I _will_ defend myself."

That brought a wider smile to the disturbed man's sneer. "Good! Oh, by the way, how do you do? J. Dastardly Deeds, at your disservice," he introduced himself. "Now, see-"

"Hey, I once knew a guy named Dastardly," Marcie said, cutting him off, on purpose.

"Don't you _ever_ interrupt me again!" Deeds screamed, before clearing his throat to continue. "Now, see the fruits of what your meddlesome mother tried to stop!" He stepped back from his table, knocking it over, as he ripped open his lab coat.

From within it, Marcie could see another suit, metallic and sporting a blinking chest plate with tubes connected to pleated grey shoulder joints. The chest plate was broad and fitted with a large knob in its center, and an small LED screen above it. Surrounding the knob were the small, stylized pictures of a snake, a rhino, and a cheetah.

Patrons scattered, giving Deeds a wide berth, while Marcie's mind raced with what to get from her jacket.

Deeds twisted the knob to the snake setting, and, to Marcie's amazement, something wondrous occurred. Although the man stood on his two feet, his outward features, his skin, eyes, and teeth, became decidedly reptilian. Even the scalp of his head grew out into a cobra-like hood, which flared with venomous intent.

"Behold!" Deeds hissed with dark pride. "My Zzzoo Sssuit! Not to be confused with a Zzzoot Sssuit, even though I made an obviousss pun on the name."

"Obviously," said Marcie, before she dodged a venom-slavered bite from the snake-man by diving behind Deeds' overturned table.

"Ssstand ssstill, little one," said Deeds, gripping the edges of the table and tossing it away, exposing her. "I don't want to wassste my venom trying to dissspatch you!"

"Let me help with that," Marcie said, flippantly, casting an Insta-Ice capsule into Deeds' technological chest plate.

"Huh?" was all Deeds had time to say before he was engulfed in a top-heavy block of ice. Slamming onto the floor, he shivered helplessly, while Marcie stood up to admire her handiwork.

"It's a good thing you turned into a reptile first, cold temperatures would make you too sluggish to fight me. Your Zoo Suit is a remarkable piece of genetic engineering," she complimented him. "Unfortunately, it was both made by, and fell into, the wrong handsss."

"I w-wouldn't worry about that in...about...thirty sssecondsss," Deeds said with a sibilant chuckle.

It was then that Marcie remembered the LED screen over the animal selector knob. It displayed one minute after the selection was made.

"Each change lasts one minute, then?" she asked.

"Yesss, and imagine what I'll change into next, sssmarty-pantsss!" Deeds said, as the clock ran down to ten seconds, then five, and then his body convulsed as his human DNA reasserted its dominance throughout him, the cobra essence, retreating.

Clumsily, he sat up, and then slowly, awkwardly, stood up to face her. Marcie stuck her hand inside her jacket again, but found that she didn't have to use it, as Deeds suddenly turned from her, and ran into a far wall, shattering the restraining ice into slushy blocks.

He slipped in the water that was made and crashed to floor again, however, this time, he was ready.

He stood up, and with a confident twist of the knob, his skin began to harden into thick, organic plates, his body swelled in size and muscle mass, just as his eyes shank and he squinted in the dim light, the bridge of his already bird-like nose began to grow vertically, strengthening and elongating into a pointed mountain of keratin. His Rhino Mode was achieved.

With a bellow that shook the walls of the bar, Deeds focused on Marcie's general direction, and charged, hoping to gore her before the one minute mark.

Marcie ran to the side, and the bartender seeing the charge, did likewise, allowing the Deeds-rhino to plow into the face of the counter, his horn penetrating a good five inches inside.

Keeping abreast of the time, he struggled to hurry out of the jam he put himself in. He only had one more selection, the cheetah. Once that was used, the suit was expended, until he could return home and get more stored animal genes.

Deeds' horn finally loosened, and he backed up in a run. Only seconds remained.

Marcie decided that answers would not be forthcoming, here, so, she jogged over to the front door. Opening it, she was momentarily blinded by the sunlight, hearing the sound of a bus approaching on its assigned route through the bar's neighborhood.

Coming from a place where ideas were welcomed, Marcie suddenly had an idea. She stood in the doorway and turned to face the irate Deeds.

"You're running out of time, Deeds," Marcie taunted. "What are you going to turn into next? A rat? An eel? A cockroach? Or a _chicken_?"

Deeds snorted in rage, but she stood her ground, glancing out into the street. The bus was coming in fast.

Deeds dug his feet against the floor, and flew at the teen girl with a reckless speed that belied his bulk, putting everything he had into what he hoped was a charge to end all charges, one that didn't just impale her, but ripped her asunder.

Timing it well enough, Marcie stepped aside, letting the sunlight her body was blocking flash full in Deeds' eyes. Between the sudden blindness and his momentum, he couldn't stop in time, finally colliding and getting T-boned by the oncoming bus, bouncing off its broad face, to roll, painfully, meters down the street.

A crowd began to form in front of the bar consisting of bar patrons, a bus driver, and his passengers, concerned about the thing that decided to run headlong into a municipal vehicle. Only Marcie, summoned by a grateful bartender, returned into the bar.

"Hey, I want to thank you for getting rid of Deeds for me," said the bartender. "Even for a mad scientist, he's a bad egg."

"No problem," she said to him. "Rhinos are strong and fast, but they have poor eyesight."

"Listen, now that I know that you're looking for your mother, I just want to tell you that she's one of the good ones," he admitted to her. "Lab Rat's done a lot more than just stop Deeds, on occasion. She sometimes help good scientists clear their names whenever a mad would get jealous and try to besmirch it. Even mine."

He gestured to a portrait on the backwall that displayed a proudly smiling, heavy-set scientist sporting a monocle and a less graying handlebar mustache.

Marcie understood the weight of the admission and asked again. "Do you know where she is? Her real name is Anna Fleach."

The bartender's eyes lit with surprise and recognition. "Anna's the Lab Rat? Wow! Okay, Anna's been seen around here, she's a bit of a regular, but, as far a being a scientist goes, I hear that she's strictly freelance. Works for the highest bidder, or best reputation." he said, thoughtfully.

The way the bartender was telling it, Marcie couldn't help but imagine her mother as some sort of no-nonsense, scientific merc-for-hire. No lab too big.

"If she wanted to," the bartender said, absently. "She could be working for Quest."

The name sparked a roller-coaster ride of dread and hope in Marcie. A possibly strong lead to her mother's whereabouts, but it pointed to a once-respected man who tried to kill her. She decided that she would just have to watch her step. "Quest Industries? Where is that?"

The bartender shrugged. "I can't help you with that, I'm afraid. Ever since Dr. Quest got in bad with the scientific community, he's become something of an underground legend, running his company through a hundred different dummy companies, and his experiments, in the shadows. Rumor has it that he's got a secret lab somewhere around here, and that he's working on something *big with some benefactor from out of town."

 _'Greenman,'_ she thought, grimly. "Thank you for your help, sir. I really appreciate it."

"Hey, don't mention it!" he called out, as she jogged out the front door, and continued her search.

Outside, she looked down the street to where Deeds would have landed, but the street was clear of him.

"Where's that guy who was hit by the bus?" she asked a bystander.

"Fiddled with something on his chest, then he high-tailed it out of here, like the devil, himself, was after him," the bystander answered.

"Cheetah Mode," Marcie figured. Then, she left the crowd, going back around the corner to where her car was parked. There was much to think and do, yet.

As members of the local scientific community started gradually returning to _The Dirty Test Tube_ , the bartender, wiping the top of his now perforated counter, shook his head, and chuckled.

"Like mother, like daughter," he said to himself.


	2. 2

_2~_

Benton gave an absent gaze around the assembly floor of his hidden lab complex from over the railing of the catwalk that stretched high above the work that was going on below.

Only about the size of a warehouse, the work area made Quest a little wistful and reminiscent. He had owned and worked in bigger facilities.

Once, he was the golden boy, the man who could do no wrong. America's hand-picked representative, standing proudly upon the global stage of science. His genius was innovative, breathtaking...to some, even risk-taking. But Benton Quest was a super-scientist, body and soul, and wouldn't let a little thing like chance interfere with the future.

Until the accident occurred. Now, he was a man darkly transformed by tragedy. Now, those halcyon days were over, replaced with days of him and Quest Industries being watchful of the law.

Below him, an arch was being put together, with ports along the inner sides of its arms to allow mechanisms to extend and retract when needed. Off to one side of the work area, a control podium for the arch was already constructed and wired, cables running from an open panel in its base to await connection.

Benton gave a wan smile at all of this. Soon the secrets of Sundial would be his to use, and not only would he be able to bring his wife back to the world, she would find him the emperor of it.

The sound of a door opening behind the catwalk brought Quest from his musings. The visitor walked in to the sound of sliding feet on the grated flooring. Quest knew who it was.

"Please, pick up your feet, Deeds," Quest deduced without turning to greet him. "So, what brings you here? Come to tell me what a success that Zoo Suit of yours has become?"

If Quest wanted to needle Deeds, it had the opposite effect. The mad scientist stood, beaming. "I would, but I think I have something even better to tell you, Doctor. What would you say if I told you that someone was asking around for Lab Rat?"

Quest answered the question with a tired sigh. "I would tell you to stop wasting my time with that. And then I would have you removed as forcibly as my security staff could, to make the point."

Deeds grinned through the threat. "Even if it was...the _daughter_ of Lab Rat?"

"Daughter?" Even Quest was compelled to turn to face Deeds over that. That _could_ mean ...

"Explain, Deeds."

"Well, as you know, I spend some time at the Test Tube, y'know, just unwinding from a hard days plotting and schem-"

"You know, Deeds, they say that time is money, Benton told him. "It is also life, and yours is ticking away with this nonsense."

Deeds decided to turn down the smugness, this time. It was getting dangerous. "Oh, yes, sir. Uh, anyway, this nerdy-looking girl came into the bar asking about Lab Rat, and let it slip that she's her mother."

Quest raised an eyebrow. "Was this girl thin, wore yellow-tinted glasses, and have brown hair?"

That surprised Deeds. He didn't know that Quest had already known the girl. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Droopy socks and a wool jacket, too. She was rocking that geek chic. Anyway, heated words were exchanged, and since I really wanted to put my Zoo Suit through its paces, we had it out in the bar."

"And she defeated you?" Quest asked. He already knew the answer.

"Maybe..." Deeds admitted, sheepishly.

"Then what?"

"I got out of there, just so I could tell my good employer about this, wondering if I could get something out of it."

"You _will_ get something out of this, Deeds," Quest said pleasantly, then he canted his head up, slightly. "Do you smell that?"

Deeds raised his head and sniffed. Apart from the scent of metal being welded, he couldn't really place anything. "No."

"Exactly. That's because air is odorless, and what you're _getting_ is the opportunity to breath more of it. Now, please, continue."

Deeds gulped. He hadn't realized just how much thin ice he was walking with Quest, today, but he could guess it was a lot. "Well, I managed to call the cops and frame her, before I came here, to kill two birds with one stone. I get some pay-back, and you know where she is."

Quest stood silent, thoughtful. Then, he returned his attention back to Deeds.

"That was actual brainpower you exhibited, Deeds," he complimented. "In fact, you _can_ do something for me. How would you like to get not "some" pay-back, but complete pay-back, as well as a raise in your next paycheck?"

The greed swelling in Deeds' eyes was all the confirmation Quest needed to set his plan into motion.

"Sure! What do you want me to do?"

"I want you and those two elderly friends of yours to find and eliminate that girl."

"The professors?" Deeds asked. "Yeah, we can do that, no problem."

"Indeed, and I want you to get one of my ID cards to take it with you."

Deeds didn't think that made much sense, but he shrugged and nodded. Where money was concerned, Quest was the boss, no matter how loony his decisions were, at times.

He turned to leave his employer back to his thoughts, when Quest stopped him with one last bristling detail.

"Oh, and if she defeats you… _again_ , I want you to tell her this…"

* * *

"Okay, as someone who's spent a fair amount of time in my own town's lockup," Marcie quipped from behind the bars. "I can tell you that this is not the best looking holding cell I've stayed in."

It was her only defense against the shadow of her father knowing what she was doing in Gatorsburg on a school day, and where she ended up, at present.

The diminutive sheriff gave a chuckle, as he waddled up to the cell. "I didn't know we had ourselves an interior decorator of detention, here. Tell me, Martha Steward, what should we do with our holding cells to make them more cozy, like?"

"Repaint your walls, for starters. 60's Fallout Shelter Green is so done."

"Well, when I call your daddy to come and pick you up, you can dance and play in your holding cell all day long," the sheriff said, smugly.

"I suppose it would matter if I told you again that I was framed by that Deeds guy," Marcie said. "Just go back to The Dirty Test Tube and ask all of the witnesses who saw me fight that crackpot. They'll tell you I'm innocent."

"But not innocent in using your inventions, here," the sheriff countered. "I know you look at us, and think we're all just simple folk, making our way in the world. But we don't take too kindly to all of this science stuff floating around."

Marcie lifted an eyebrow in confusion. "You people?"

"Mad scientist!" the sheriff clarified. "You folks with your doodads, gadgets and gimcrackery."

Marcie rolled her eyes at the realization of who had jailed her. "Ugh! Are you some sort of luddite? And where is my car?"

"Here, in our impound, and you can call me whatever you want, dearie," he sniffed. "I'm not the one in the hoosegow, now, am I?"

"Look, you can't lock me up just because I use science to solve problems," Marcie continued, trying to reason with him. "I mean, look at you. You're a law officer. Don't you use the science of criminology to solve crimes?"

The small man pointed at the girl. "Don't you count me with one of you Lab Coats. Sheriff Beauregard Q. Scaleback solves crimes the old-fashioned way."

"And that way is?" Marcie asked, not caring.

"Guesswork and pure dumb luck."

"Of course," she said, not at all surprised, then she asked, "Do you know a sheriff named Bronson Stone?"

"Stone, huh?" Scaleback ruminated on his way back to his desk to see to his paperwork, and also, a curiously wrapped object. "Solid-sounding name."

"Yeah, a real rockhead," Marcie muttered under her breath, as she walked back to her bench to sit and think on what to do.

"Uh, Sheriff, would you mind sending one of your deputies over to the Test Tube?" she entreated, again.

"What for? They ain't eggheads, like you."

"To question the people," she reminded with a sigh.

"Miss Fletcher-"

"It's Fleach," she corrected.

"Whatever. I have a lot of paperwork to do, so I can't send the manpower to do your...questioning, right now." He picked up the wrapped object, that suspiciously had the shape of a burger.

"You're eating a sandwich."

He unwrapped the big burger and held up its paper wrapper for her to see. "Nope. I'm doing my paperwork, and what a big paper it is, too! Now, you just sit there and wait for me to finish, so I can send your pappy after you." He punctuated the sentence with a guffaw, and then, stuffed his face.

"Obviously, the long _harm_ of the law," Marcie sulked, not noticing the poking, blue fangs that literally began to dissolve and chew away at the holding cell's dingy green outer wall.

The teeth's mouth, and the hole it was making, began to grow wider, leading into a dark and deadly maw of chemicals and pseudo-living material that could liquefy inorganic material as quick and efficiently as it could flesh. Something that its creator, could attest to, due to earlier, and far more gruesome, testing.

The sound of semi-solid cinderblocks falling to the floor in sizzling plops, alerted Marcie to the present danger. She glanced worryingly back at Scaleback, who was still enjoying his lunch, wondering if she was going to lunch for something, herself.

"Sheriff! Sheriff!" Marcie called out, while watching the wall get more and more eaten away. "You've got to get me out of here!"

"You ain't going no-" He said, before almost choking on his food at the sight of his cell being destroyed from the outside. "Is that your doing, girly?"

"Trust me! It's not!"

"Then who in the world is doing that?"

"Santa Claus! I don't know! Just get me out of here!" Marcie yelled, as she pressed against the bars, endeavoring to keep as far from the blue mouth as possible.

The sheriff jumped from his chair, ran to the cell, and fumbled for the keys, as the rest of the wall, weakened by damage, crumbled on the spot, allowing for a view of the police station's rear parking lot, that led to the impound lot further back. Whatever had eaten at it, moved away when the wall collapsed.

The question of what had torn down the wall was tabled, when Marcie saw her chance to escape, and took it.

"Hey! Wait! Where are you going, missy! You are still incarcerated in my custody!" Scaleback yelled, as he saw Marcie sprint away from him and the bars, jumping through the ragged hole that used to be a sturdy, though badly painted, wall.

Blinking away the sun's glare, Marcie got her bearings, and then reacted by leaping to one side, as a huge mouth, far bigger than the one that started on the wall, descended to swallow her in one corrosive gulp.

She rolled on the pavement, came to a stop, and looked up at her attacker. It was weird science personified.

A dark blue mass of bio-plasm, with functioning eyes and a hungry, searching mouth, approached her on four stubby legs, from a few yards away.

Off to the side, stood three spectators. An old man who looked like Albert Einstein's twin, wearing a purple suit, yellow shirt, a pair of half-glasses, and what looked like a pair of metallic opera gloves.

The other elderly gentleman, displayed a head balding with snow white hair, and sporting a white pair of scrubs.

The tallest and youngest of the three was the one she recognized the quickest.

"Who are your friends, Deeds?" she asked, still watchful of the blue blob closing in.

Deeds laughed. "Meet Professors Von Gimmick and Crankenshaft. They're here to help me get rid of you."

Marcie, wanting to get to her car and flee this strange scene, stood up and backed off towards the cyclone fencing of the impound lot, hoping that the surrounding, parked police cars would slow the cerulean thing from reaching her.

"C'mon, Deeds! I can't hurt them," Marcie pointed out. "They're old. They look like escapees from an Old Mad Scientists' Home."

"As a matter of fact, they are! You, however, won't live long enough to know what that feels like," Deeds taunted back. Then, with a flourish, he yielded the battlefield to his compatriots. "Gentlemen."

Von Gimmick raised one of his gloved arms, and the gauntleted arm extended past the police cruisers toward Marcie at a frightening speed, catching her off-guard by the throat, and pinning her hard against the impound lot's fencing.

"I've got her, Cranky," he told Crankenshaft. "You can let your monster eat, now. Your welcome."

"You didn't have to do that," Crankenshaft groused. "My blob would have gotten to her."

"Eventually," Von Gimmick added, sarcastically.

"You forget, Von Gimmick. My creature gets larger and stronger with everything it eats. It will make short work of her."

"Larger and stronger," Von Gimmick complained. "But not faster! I can't hold her all day, y'know."

Meanwhile, Marcie, fighting against the unyielding, mechanized grip of the glove, yelled, "Do you guys always argue, or do you only bicker like a married couple when you're out of the house?"

"Stay out of this!" Both men yelled at her.

Von Gimmick gave his friend a sigh and sneered in frustration. "Fine! If you think your _pet_ can get the job done, then, here!"

He gave his hand inside the extended metal arm a light jerking gesture, causing the limb to flex, lift and casually toss Marcie several yards to the side, where she landed with a rolling crash onto the sidewalk around the corner from the police station.

"Now, look what you did, you dimwit!" scolded Crankenshaft, as he speed-walked through the parking lot, weaving past the cars his creature wasn't busy devouring, to reach the lot's side entrance.

Marcie got up in a stumble, and jogged gingerly away from the station, and, she knew, her car. The criminals would surely give chase, and she didn't want to be caught vulnerable on the ground.

Eventually, she would have to take the fight to them. Maybe the sheriff would see reason, then.


	3. 3

_3~_

Marcie knew what was called for in this situation, just in all previous ones, to fight science with science. She gave herself a pat-down to check for her carry-on chemicals, and found, to her severe dismay, that the inside of her jacket was potion-free.

"Great," she moaned. "I forgot that the police confiscated my stuff earlier. Now, what?"

Looking to the surrounding buildings of the block for somewhere to duck into, since battling the crackpots on equal terms seemed futile, she spotted it. Across the street from the front of the police station was a convenience store.

A sneaky smile grew on her face. She was going to put the word _convenience_ to the test.

* * *

Bill Grammercy, owner of Grammercy's Groceries, stared out of the store's front windows from his place behind the counter, as he had forever, it seemed to him. The same police station, the same neighborhood customers. Nothing changed.

The tiny bell that hung over the door heralded Marcie's hurried arrival, as she rushed in and marched up to the counter.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you have any corrosive or cryogenic compounds in here? I'm being chased by a blob monster, three mad scientists, and I'm pretty sure the cops are looking for me, too."

Grammercy believed in keeping his store as well stocked as possible, but the things that she asked for gave him pause. He wasn't sure he had anything like that in stock. But, when in doubt, let the customer sniff it out, like his father would say.

He gave a shrug and gestured to the aisles off to the side. Marcie jogged towards them to begin her search.

"Good luck," the owner said, noncommittally.

Marcie's head swiveled left and right, giving the most cursory of scans as to what stood on the shelves near the front of the store. Food and snacks, soup and drinks, bagged ice and beers, all useless.

She took a step to go further into the aisles, then stopped when she and the owner noticed that the ambient light inside the store was going from dim to dark, rapidly.

Marcie stepped back and looked at the erstwhile source of sunlight, the window, being blocked by a eclipsing form. A form that busied itself by eating the window and the supporting storefront.

As the facade of Grammercy's Groceries began to collapse from the swift damage inflicted, Marcie turned to the counter. "Sir, you have to get out of he-"

The man was already heading for the storeroom, and its back door, in the rear. "It's on the house!" he yelled.

Marcie shrugged, satisfied that the man was on his way to safety, then ducked into the cover of the aisles, continuing her hunt for anything to end this.

* * *

The three mad scientists gathered in the store's parking lot, grinning in easy triumph at the knowledge of Marcie being trapped in the building. All the hungry, blue beast had to do now, was flow inside, and then, it would be over.

"Ha! Ha!" Crankenshaft cackled. "It won't be long, now! Thanks to those police cars it ate, my creature is three times the size it was at the police station! That girl doesn't have a chance."

Any reply he might have heard from his compatriots was interrupted by the report of a gun going off behind him.

The three twisted around to see deputies and the sheriff, himself, rushing from across the street and discharging their weapons in a futile effort to bring Crankenshaft's monster down.

Bullets either entered, loss kinetic energy, slowed, and were dissolved in the body, or made furrows through its surface, as they missed the center mass. All the while, its creator laughed and thought how good it was to be a mad scientist.

Von Gimmick and Deeds saw the police officers and weren't so jovial about their arrival. Von Gimmick reached out with his robotic limbs, sweeping deputies aside with one arm, and deflecting shots meant for him with the other.

Deeds clutched at his chest, twisting the dial of his Zoo Suit to Cheetah Mode. After his transformation, he flew at deputies who didn't get batted around by Von Gimmick, slashing and ripping into them with a feral speed.

Scaleback stood in the middle of the street, making sure that he was far enough back to lead his men into battle without suffering himself as a casualty. But, as men fell before him, broken and wounded, he quaked in his meticulously shined boots at the inevitable attack that would come.

* * *

A blue pseudopod, one of the blob monster's limbs, became pliant and snaked its way deep into the store, probing for its meal. It would have oozed its entire body in, but its simple mind was distracted by the fighting going on behind it.

Marcie had made it to the limited automotive/ housewares/ sundry aisle, when she gasped at the sight of the limb slithering along the tile floor towards her position.

She backed away, realizing that she had run out of time looking for suitable weapons, or components to craft her own, and searched for room to maneuver.

Then, her elbow tapped a small can of Freon, used to replenish a car's air conditioner system, off its shelf, and it hit the floor, rolling towards the tentacle.

The limb's senses reacted to the sound and impact, instinctively wrapping itself around the can, and cutting it into ragged halves with its secreted hyper-digestive acid. The pressurized contents sprayed out, coating the floor and tentacle, causing the appendage to frost up and recoil in pain. Eventually, it left the aisle, altogether.

Marcie gave herself a clever smile, and then gathered up whole armloads of the cans.

* * *

"Now, you hold it, right there!" Scaleback quavered, pointing at the criminals with a shaky hand. "Don't make me come over there a-and read you the Riot Act."

The blob monster and its master casually approached the sheriff, the creature ready for its next meal.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry, Herr Sheriff," Crankenshaft said, allowing his creation to crawl ahead of him. "I doubt that my monster would even know what you were talking about, anyway."

The attempted murder was interrupted, however, by the sound of Marcie suddenly bounding out of the ruins of the convenience store, carrying a can in one hand, and hauling a full, plastic trash bag over her shoulder.

Deeds and Von Gimmick quickly out-flanked Marcie by running behind her at the front of the store, forcing her to stay where she was, in between monster and scientists, and cut off from any shelter she could find in returning to the building.

With his Cheetah Mode worn off, Deeds had switched to something more deadly, his Cobra Mode, ready to strike if Marcie tried to pass him in her attempt to head back in to the store.

Von Gimmick slowly flexed the mechanized fingers of his gloves, eager to manhandle her, again.

"This time, young lady," he cried, as he stretched his metal limbs out at her. "I'm going to hand-feed you to that thing, myself!"

Her body tensed, waiting for a mistake like that to occur. She dropped her cargo and shifted her body into a spinning, ducking move that made the gauntlets miss her as she fell to the ground.

The arms, their motorized weight adding to their momentum when extending fast, couldn't stop in time, and they flew over Marcie, into the near-mindless maw of the blob monster. They were promptly sucked in like steel spaghetti, dragging the screaming, terrified professor closer and closer to the fate of being eaten alive.

"No! No! Not me, _you blue booger_! Not me!" Von Gimmick cried out, as he tapped at the glove release buttons inside the arms, but because they took on structural damage, the arms, or rather, what was left of them, ceased to function.

Foot by foot, the man was pulled into striking distance of the creature, when finally, he managed to wiggle his small arms out of the half-devoured metal sleeves that were once his vaunted gloves, and like a pratfall, fell to the ground.

"Von Gimmick, are you alright?" asked Deeds in a hiss.

Gasping, Von Gimmick said nothing. He looked down on the hands that once created wonders, understanding just how close he was to losing them. He, then, got up, and without fanfare, tried to run off, only to succeed in running into the bruised, irate, and waiting arms of Gatorsburg's finest.

Now, that one professor was dealt with, Marcie focused her attention on the invention of the other. She stood and gave the can she carried, a casual toss, where it landed by one of the monster's feet, rolled, and made contact.

The can's metal began to bubble and perforate, releasing super-cold jets of Freon from its innards. In seconds, searing pain and freezing bio-plasm resulted. The blob bellowed, and in primal rage, returned to its previous mind of hunting Marcie.

Crankenshaft was visibly troubled, if not outright shaken, by the sound, and he focused his own rage on Marcie. "What...What is happening? _What did you do to my creature_?"

"This," Marcie said, watching the monster close in on her, its mouth quivering with hunger.

She grabbed the trash bag from the ground, and began to swing it like a hammer toss, its contents making a banging, clattering racket.

When enough momentum was built, Marcie let go, and the bag flew up in an arc, straight into the creature's mouth. After what had happened to Von Gimmick, it proved that the blob's primitive brain only provided it with the unchanging impetus to feed, and obey Crankenshaft, not to think defensively, so, as before, it didn't question what it swallowed, it just salivated on, and tried to digest, whatever its mouth came in contact with.

The center of the monster suddenly began to quake, letting out a yowl of agony, as pressurized coolant forced its way out of its cavernous gullet, and heavy droplets of liquid Freon fell back onto the beast, covering it, and the parking lot, in a cooling rain and freezing its body from the inside-out.

In confusion, it thrashed in its torment, crushing Bill Grammercy's car, and then, rolling on the ground, gradually hardening and icing under Crankenshaft's tortured gaze, until, finally, the creature, the professor's lethal pride and joy, stopped moving, altogether, and expired in a ready-made tomb of its own solid body, blanketed with a delicate frost.

"Now, _that's_ an ice cream headache!" she joked, grimly.

Deeds took a look at where Crankenshaft last stood, but he was already in police custody. He was the only one left.

"Your move, pal," Marcie told him. "Oh, and if you decide to go Wild Kingdom, even rhinos aren't bulletproof." The sound of deputies cocking their collective guns in his direction punctuated her point.

To his credit, he brought his hand away from his chestplate.

It wasn't until Deeds was handcuffed, that Scaleback emerged from the throng of police officers in the street.

He swaggered up to Marcie, a big, phony smile on his face. "Well, dearie, you sure showed them, huh?"

"Yeah. It would've been easier, though, if you didn't take my inventions," Marcie grumbled.

"Well, I had no idea you were the little missy who saved our town from that flash flood during the Pageant of Gators, a few months back."

"And rid you of that shifty shaman, Preter du Marais," she reminded him, before continuing her harangue. "But, what do you have against scientists, anyway. The world wouldn't be what it is without them, and, by the way, if you didn't like mad scientists so much, why didn't you arrest Deeds and his little bunch? All of their inventions caused harm."

"Well," Scaleback drawled, while he rocked back and forth on his heels, pleased with himself. "We, or rather, I, needed to see if you not being a mad scientist checked out. I guess it did."

A deputy overhearing the conversation, offered to Marcie, "Don't worry, ma'am. Sheriff, here, he don't mind science, it's just that he flunked science class in high school, and was left back. It's just a big ol' bluff."

Scaleback gave the man an embarrassed cough to get him to drop the subject and go on his way. "Well, anywho, I am authorized to give back your things, and not call your papa."

Marcie was inwardly thankful for that, but rolled her eyes at his brusque egotism. "Boy, that sure sounded like an apology to me."

"Well..." Scaleback muttered with a cough, not comfortable to admit a mistake that he'd much rather sweep under the rug. "The Gatorsburg Police Department wishes you to have a nice day."

 _'It's all I could expect, I guess,'_ Marcie thought, as she began to follow the sheriff and his subordinates back to the station. Then, someone called her name.

"Marcie Fleach! Marcie Fleach!" yelled Deeds from where he was being taken in for processing.

Marcie walked over to him, confident that he couldn't do anything to her while cuffed. "How do you know my name, Deeds?"

"A little birdie name Benton told me," he taunted. "Want to guess what _else_ he said? He said that he knows who you are, and that if you want to find him, all you have to do is solve this riddle, and you'll meet."

"What is it?" she asked.

"There are dangers you will have to face,

When you find Benton's hiding place,

Where victims struggle, and leave no trace,

In Nature's awesome, raw embrace."

"C'mon," said the deputy who was handling him. He grew tired of Deeds talking, and so, half-dragged, half walked him back to the station. But, as they crossed the street, a white and green plastic card with a magnetic strip, fell from Deeds' pocket, to the sidewalk.

Marcie looked around her. Everyone seemed too busy to notice her, so, she went over quickly, and picked it up with a deft hand, quietly pocketing it.

As she followed the men to the station, Marcie thought hard about the riddle. She was sure that Quest was hiding somewhere in Gatorsburg, and now, this clue just fell in her lap.

 _'It's obviously a trap,'_ she thought. But, this was the strongest lead she found since returning to this town, and she couldn't let it go. No matter where it led.


	4. 4

_4~_

 _"Where victims struggle, and leave no trace,_

 _In Nature's awesome, raw embrace."_

Marcie mulled the passage around in her stressed-out head, once more, coming up with the same frustrating blankness she encountered before. She felt like a dog chasing its tail, and just getting dizzy, for her troubles.

Which was why she decided to take a drive up to 1 Hill Street, to reunite with a person who knew Gatorsburg inside and out, a woman she had the pleasure of meeting and living under during the Pageant of Gators.

Marcie entered the hotel's antique-appointed foyer, but didn't need to inquire to the owner's whereabouts. Greta Gator, the proprietress of The Dancing Gator Hotel, stood behind the counter, watching the girl walk through the front of the lobby and head for her. Happy recognition did the rest.

"Why, you're that Fleach girl, aren't you?" Greta asked, brightening upon seeing her. "I never expected you to come back so soon, child!"

"Hi, Miss Gator," Marcie nodded.

Greta waved that away. "Now, you know better than that. Call me Greta, child, now, what can I do for you? Are you and that _handsome_ father of yours staying over again?"

Marcie had to smile at that. The fact that Greta still carried a crush on Winslow made this trip less stressful than it had been. "Not this time, Greta. I came back to look for someone, and I was hoping that you could help me. Since you're a native, I figured you might know something about this town."

With a proud grin, Greta waved that away, as well. "Aw, you don't have to butter me up, girl, even though I _have_ been crawlin' around this place since I was a fry. Who are you lookin' for?"

"Do you know a man named Benton Quest?" Marcie asked.

Greta shrugged. "Can't say that I have."

Marcie sighed, fearing to hit a dead-end. "Well, and this is going to sound strange," she said, pensively. "But I can find him. The only way, however, is to solve this riddle. Could I tell it to you?"

"Sure thing," the woman nodded.

"There are dangers you will have to face,

When you find Benton's hiding place,

Where victims struggle, and leave no trace,

In Nature's awesome, raw embrace."

Greta leaned over the counter and rested on her elbows, deep in thought. She hummed and scratched her red hair in puzzlement, then, sighed her decision.

"Hmm. 'Where victims struggle, and leave no trace/In Nature's awesome, raw embrace?' I don't know about this Benton fella, but it sounds an awful lot like this riddle's talkin' about the swamps, probably the Source Swamps."

"The swamps?" The realization not only dawned on a thunderstruck Marcie, it was blinding her with its obvious light.

"Oh, yeah, child," Greta explained, matter-of-factly. "People have been disappearing in those swamplands for years. Considerin' the wildlife in there, I wouldn't be, at all, surprised."

Marcie was tempted to smack her own forehead in embarrassment. "I could," she muttered. "I can't believe that the answer was that simple. If it was Deeds, as a snake, he would've bit me. Quest must really want me to find him, bad. I mean, he didn't even try, this time."

"This Quest fella might be holed up in Bellow Mansion," Greta offered.

The sound of a new clue perked Marcie out of her mental self-flagellation. "Bellow Mansion? What's that?"

"An old domicile that sat on the edge of Bellow Lake, in the Source Swamps. Pretty popular place in its heyday."

Marcie gave it some thought. It was certainly a long shot, but any lead was a good lead, she learned. Then, she remembered Greta's help, and flashed a grin of gratitude. "Thank you, so much, Greta. You don't know it, but you helped me out more than you know! Thank you! Thank you!"

That much gratefulness took the hotelier by surprise. "Well, my pleasure, suguh! I hope you find who you're lookin' for. Be careful going up there, though, and yourself have a nice day."

Marcie didn't know if that could accomplished, but said, "I will." She turned to leave, but then stopped when Greta called out to her.

"Oh, and tell that hunka-hunk of burnin' Winslow...that my door is _always_ open."

Marcie raised her eyebrows, as she considered such a risqué request, but then told her, honestly, "I will, and thanks, again! I'll never forget this."

Greta waved, as Marcie reached the doorway. "Bye-bye, child!"

Marcie skipped back through the parking lot to her car and jumped in. She would need a few things in the next hours, or so. A map of the town, more information on this Bellow Mansion...and a lab coat.

And then, after all of that, a prayer. She knew she would need that most of all.

* * *

Long cleared of the debris that choked the path after the town's flash flood, Marcie drove up the road that led to the wet highlands. She could see, from the corner of her eye, the occasional corpses of uprooted trees and dead shrubbery lying by the side of the road, extending the life of the woodlands, as they were being passed by, and the deep and dangerous swamps beckoned.

According to the pamphlet of landmarks that she had purchased along with a map, from Snapper's Cybercafe and Souvenir Shop, Bellow Mansion was built in the 1900's by wealthy leather tycoon, Seymour Bellow, a descendant of the cartographer, Alvin Bellow, who discovered the lake that dominated the Source Swamps. In honor of that, Seymour had his home built by the edge of one of Bellow Lake's inlets.

It wasn't too long before the disappearances started, however. First, was Mrs. Bellow, then, his visiting father, then, several members of the serving staff, including the chauffeur and the cook, and then, finally Seymour, himself.

No evidence of foul play was ever discovered, but, perhaps, having alligators roam freely inside the mansion, might have had something to do with it, for poor, mad Seymour prided himself on being the most loving of the town's gator population. The place was avoided, soon after, and quickly fell into disrepair in the humidity of the area.

 _'At least, until Quest got his hands on it, somehow,'_ Marcie thought.

Committing the map's route to memory, she glanced over to one side of the road to the lake beyond the copses of cypress trees and willows, following the path that wound beside it. The lake was beautiful in the sunlight, yet made Marcie give it the respect it earned in the wake of the flooding, since the lake gave birth to its deadly floodwaters.

Marcie slowed down, after noticing a path leading from the side of the road, up ahead.

That might have been it, Marcie hoped. An artery cleared of all the growth that sprung up after the fall of Bellow Mansion, made from the varied construction vehicles that had to have come through to reinforce the ruins of the mansion without changing its weathered appearance, while at the same time, creating space underneath, to house Quest's hidden laboratories.

How he managed to do all of this without alerting the town's elders was beyond her. The sound of construction work, alone, would have been sufficient to make people curious enough to investigate or, at the very least, speculate.

It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, as she turned into the rough-made side road. That it was still clear enough to drive through, told her that traffic continued to flow through, here.

The bumps on the path, however, were getting so rough in places, that Marcie feared that it would destroy her car's suspension, but, eventually, the road opened up to a bright, lakeside clearing that once served as the mansion's front lawn, but now, served as a lot for a small fleet of parked buses,.

Prudence demanded that Marcie park the Clue Cruiser off to the side of the clearing, away from its entrance, and far enough from the mansion that it wouldn't arouse any attention.

She stepped out of the car, wearing a pristine, white lab coat, her usually unkempt hair, gathered in a wild ponytail with a store-bought Scrunchy. Leaning against the car door, she gazed at the ancient building that stood before her in the lake's sun-reflected glare.

It was a huge Southern-style mansion that wore its moldy patina proudly. Dark, broken windows invoked thoughts of grand, haunted houses in the most glorious traditions of Southern Gothic tales, and a distorted roof now housed only resting bats and night birds of various descriptions. It was, as hiding places went, perfect.

A woman's voice broke the mansion's hold on Marcie. "Hey! Are you coming in late?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry I startled you. I was just taking in the scenery, before I went back to work. I saw you there, so I was asking if you were late for work?"

Marcie regarded the speaker, a heavy-set woman clad in a lab coat, walking from the direction of the small pier that stood on the edge of the mighty lake. "Uh, yeah. I just drove in."

"If you got up earlier, you could've been picked up in one of the shuttle buses, there." She suggested, pointing a thumb to the buses in the lot.

"Oh, uh, I'll do that, next time," Marcie nodded in understanding.

"Well, you better hurry in," the woman said with a good-natured shrug, heading for the mansion. "You don't want to get the boss mad."

Marcie had a good idea who the "boss" was. "You're right! We don't want that. I'll just follow you."

They both walked past the buses and trod through the wide, weed-choked front yard of the property. As they approached the mansion's rough facade, Marcie's escort took a quizzical glance at her.

"I don't think I've seen you here, before. Are you new?"

The woman's words were said for conversation's sake, but it still raised warning flags in Marcie.

 _'Just be cool and think,'_ she thought to calm her anxiety. _'You'll get through this.'_

"Yep. I was hired just last week," Marcie lied.

The woman nodded, satisfied. "Well, don't worry. I'll give you the nickel tour while I get to my department. What's your name?"

That caught Marcie off-guard, but, luckily, the woman hadn't noticed her hesitation. "Uh, Margo Freep. Yours?"

"Tanya," the woman said, while they walked up the weather-beaten stairs to the decrepit porch. "Well, here we are."

Marcie casually looked around at the rotted condition of the place from up close, and was about to commend Quest on maintaining the look of the big house, when her eyes spotted something that made her gasp and freeze at the same time. A large, scarred alligator, resting by the front doors, like a guard dog.

Tanya walked towards the reclining reptile, taking out a green and white plastic card from her coat pocket.

"Wait! Wait!" Marcie yelled, but Tanya simply chuckled.

"Boy, you _are_ new, aren't you?" she said, as Marcie followed Tanya's ID card-carrying hand down to the gator's stiffly opening maw, and then tensed in terror for her associate.

Tanya waved the card inside the alligator's mouth, as if taunting it, but then, the reptile bade in a tinny, electronic voice, "Enter."

Marcie, now understanding that this fake gator was just part of Quest's mansion camouflage, and relieved not to see a mauling take place, followed suit, taking the purloined ID card out of her own coat pocket, and waving it within the gator's mouth. However, the gator was now strangely silent.

Marcie's stomach started to grow sick with worry. What if the card's code just told Dr. Quest who had used it? She was expecting to see a platoon of guards burst through the front doors with the express duty of detaining her until the good doctor got his hands on her.

Tanya, watching this quiet drama play out, suggested to Marcie, "Wave it again." Marcie complied, and this time, she was rewarded.

"Enter," said the gator, and the satisfying sound of heavy locks unlatching in the doors gave them permission to enter.

Tanya walked in, and Marcie took a quiet, quivering breath, before she walked through the threshold. So far, the disguise was working, but she couldn't help but think of only worse-case scenarios, before the trap was sprung, and she stood face-to face with Benton Quest.

From the center of the disheveled foyer, the teen saw an elevator shaft, whose top went through the room's ceiling, looking incongruous against the rotted Southern decor.

Tanya pressed her ID card against the small, glass plate near the shaft's door, opening it.

"I know that this'll sound funny," Marcie pensively told Tanya, as she followed her into the elevator car. "But, all of you get paid, don't you?"

That brought a chuckle from the woman. "Sure, we do. Why?"

"I don't know," Marcie explained with a shrug, before the car's doors closed, and they descended. "It just feels a like a cult, or something."


	5. 5

_5~_

The facilities Marcie visited while walking through the clean, hexagonal corridors, the different laboratories and their attendant departments, the electronics and machinery centers, bespoke of incredible wealth and innovation.

But by being in the belly of the beast, it forced her to grimly reevaluate her chances of surviving someone like Benton Quest, especially, if he could afford to build places like this, and still continue to be such a powerful, if rogue, scientist.

"I like the rec center you got, here," Marcie complimented. "The disco's a nice touch."

"Thanks," Tanya said, leading her through another turn in the corridor. "The disco opens around nine, I think. Nice atmosphere, there."

Although the place seemed like a dream to an intellectual, like Marcie, she knew she had to focus on the matter at hand. The deeper into the complex she was taken, the riskier things would get for her, so she needed to complete her mission, quickly.

"Do we have a Human Resources department?" she asked. "I mean, is there anyway of finding out who's working here? Like a duty roster, or employee schedule?"

"Looking for somebody?" Tanya asked. "Who is it? I might be able to help."

Marcie sighed. Now, she knew how secret agents felt. She didn't want to involve Tanya in her now dangerous affairs, but she needed the information. "Okay. Her name is An-"

"Hello, ladies," called out a masculine voice from the distance.

Marcie took a look at the voice's owner, a tall, burly man, crowned in snow-white hair, yet he wasn't elderly. His swagger of a smile proceeded him, as he walked down the hallway with equal swagger in his step.

Tanya brightened upon seeing him, and whispered to Marcie, "Oh! It's that big hunk of man! Dr. Quest's personal bodyguard and rugged test pilot, Race Bannon. I tell you, he makes all the girls walk on Cloud Nine, around here."

Whatever thoughts were brewing in Tanya's mind at the moment, they were quite different than the ones in Marcie's. The teen worried.

 _'Personal bodyguard,'_ she fretted in thought. _'Not good, from the look of him.'_

Race wasn't young, but he was still in his physical prime, and loyal to Quest, or, at least to his money. She might be able to incapacitate him with her chemicals, in a fight, but even that didn't make her feel all that confident. She didn't think that even Red could take him on, and knew Daisy would never forgive her, if she somehow convinced him to try.

"Um, what brings you down here, Mr. Bannon?" Tanya asked, nervously, secretly hoping that _she_ was the reason for the visit. "Does Dr. Quest need anything?"

"As a matter of fact, he does," Race told her, glancing over at Marcie and pointing casually at her. "The boss wants to talk to her." He gave Marcie a smile. It might have meant to look reassuring, but the girl couldn't help but notice a tint of menace in the corners.

Tanya turned to Marcie. "The newbie?" she asked, her disappointment slipping out enough to make her sound more incredulous, than neutral.

"Do you mind if I tear her away from you for a moment?" he pleasantly asked.

Marcie wasn't too keen on his choice of the word 'tear,' but she put on a brave face to the man, smiling to hide her discomfort. At least, he would bring her straight to his employer, so she didn't have to waste time looking for him.

"Oh, of course!" Tanya said, giggling away her chagrin, and stepping to the side to allow Race to escort Marcie away. She then regarded Marcie, as the girl began to depart, saying, "First day on the job, and the boss already wants to talk to you. Lucky, huh?"

Marcie turned her head to Tanya, feeling as though she were walking to her pending execution.

"Yeah, what an honor," she said with glum sarcasm.

* * *

Marcie thought that she, somehow, was transported into the opulent level of a international office building, when the elevator opened to reveal a floor of the complex that looked markedly different from the rest of the sterile-looking place.

She and Race stepped out into a hallway flanked with actual living plants in terra cotta pots, warm smooth jazz flowing from the speakers in the ceiling, tasteful portraits decorating the walls, and a ruddy carpet that stretched from the elevator, down the long hall, and ended inside the open, circular receptionist's area, which was where they walked, quietly.

Marcie was lost in her conflicted thoughts of what she would do when she saw the scientist, or what she would say, when Race picked that time to ask her a question.

"So, you're gonna join our little family, sunshine?"

Marcie was brought out of her funk by that. "Huh?"

"Our little family," he continued. "The boss wanted you for something. I figured that he wanted you to join us, or something."

Marcie's eyebrows lifted. That line of thinking was something she hadn't, before, considered. Maybe something could be brokered between the two them because of it.

Race, glancing down at Marcie, let out a authentic belly-laugh, and shook his head, sorrowfully. "You believe that, doncha? What did you think was gonna happen? He was gonna let you date his boy, Jonny? Ha! He goes through girls like old chewing gum."

"A real lady-killer, huh?"

"No," he said. "Just girls."

A confused chill passed through her, but she wouldn't let him know it. "It's a good thing that he's not my type," she sniffed.

"Most weren't, either. You'll probably just be his new plaything, er, I mean, playmate, for a while, until he gets tired of you. That happens a lot."

They entered the receptionist's area, where a woman sitting behind a desk, watched them approach the ornate double doors of the CEO and founder of Quest Industries.

Marcie took a curious glance at the woman, studying her smooth her nails while she watched them, in turn. She never blinked.

"She's a Questoid, isn't she?" Marcie asked, matter-of-factly.

Race glance Marcie. "Hey, not bad. How did you know? You're into robotics?"

Marcie shrugged, fighting the urge to geek out. "I dabble, but I've got a friend who would love to see what makes her tick."

"Oh, I know what makes her tick, around quitting time," Race said with a wolfish glance at the receptionist.

Marcie rolled her eyes heavenward. "Walked into that one."

The doors swung open with an imperial slowness and grace that made Marcie think that she was granted an audience with royalty, which, to the scientific community, disgraced or not, Quest was.

The interior was a sumptuous, low-lit, and atmospheric affair, tailored to Benton's wealth and intellectual sensibilities.

She stepped in, seeing Dr. Benton Quest seated behind his large desk, and not knowing what to expect. When she saw her fuming mother sitting on one of the plush chairs that faced that desk, Marcie didn't know quite what to _say_.

But her mother certainly did. "Marcia Anne Fleach! What are you doing here?" she asked, angrily. "Where's your father? Is he here, too?"

The chemical wunderkind, the scientist, the amateur detective that outwitted her foes, was transformed into a nine-year old girl in mere seconds under Anne's displeasure. All of this just made Quest smile all the brighter.

"Ah, Miss Fleach, how good of you to come. I see that you've finally gotten my invitation from that dolt Deeds. Now, we can have a proper family reunion, after which, you will help me with mine."

Marcie ignore his jibes and cryptic words, and just focused on seeing her mother, out of costume, at last.

With her conservative look of a lab coat, sweater, skirt, sensible shoes, and a bracelet, for style, Anne looked every bit the scientist that Marcie always imagined. The setting could have been better, but they could have met in the center of Hell, and to Marcie, it wouldn't have mattered.

"Mom," she began, then stopped, laughing in incredulity, and radiating to Anne, a happy and sincere smile.

"I thought I'd never hear myself say that again," she said, the emotion threatening to make her fail to speak words that she rehearsed in her heart for years, "Not to you. Not in the flesh. I know I'm in trouble fro being here, but I don't care. I had to come to and see you, again, Mom. I love you."

The maternal concern Anne had been simmering, went out in a flash. How long had she went to bed, and woke the next day thinking she would never hear her daughter say those words, in life, or hear _herself_ say them, in honest response?

The words had difficulty coming from her. Her emotion was too strong, the situation, too long in coming. "I...I love you, too, dear." A hot tear escaped her composure, and rolled down from under her glasses.

Not waiting for permission from Quest, Anne stood from her chair and faced Marcie fully. It was all the impetus her daughter needed.

Marcie ran from the doorway and barreled into Anne with a hug from years of missed birthdays, and talks about who she liked in school, and scoldings for staying out late, and a hundred other things mothers and daughters did as a family.

Marcie looked at Anne with glasses wet with her own tears, wondering why her mother ever left, why she have to live without her for so long,…and why did something just fall into her lab coat pocket?

Whatever it was, she didn't want her host to get suspicious, so she released her mother, and turned to Quest to distract him from the smuggling.

"You know, it just dawned on me that you were the one who tried to kidnap that scientist's son during the Tri-State Olympiad of Science," she said, confidently. "You left me a riddle, now, just like you did, then."

"Very astute, Miss Fleach." Benton nodded. "I wanted Sundial's time technology secrets, since I couldn't find the T.H.R.O.B.A.C.'S stolen remains to study from, so I tried to get the next best thing, someone on the inside to get my information for me, as long as his son was fine, that is."

Marcie was confused. "But why the riddles, anyway? Weren't you worried that I might, you know, stop you?"

"My dear, I have contingency plans on top of contingency plans. I was confident that I would eventually thwart Sundial, no matter what you did, and I did," Quest pointed out with a self-satisfied smirk.

"In any event," he continued. "I knew of you and your friend, Velma Dinkley's, reputation on the science fair circuit, _and_ your three-year winning streak in the Olympiads. So, I staged my little kidnapping to coincide with the event. Simply put, I wanted to see how smart and resourceful you were, while I implemented my plan.

"I hadn't known, at the time, that you bowed out of participating this year, but, with my riddles and traps, I think you were sufficiently challenged, regardless."

"You were _testing_ me?" Marcie asked, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. "I was almost blown up, twice, and nearly drowned in a tank of water. I suppose you sending that robot on me the other day was, what, my mid-term?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he said without missing a beat. "Mr. Greenman asked me to kill you, and although I pretended that I didn't know you, I accepted. My Questoid broadcasted everything it saw to me, not just for its analysis, but for yours, as well."

 _'Ice-hearted bastard,'_ Anne thought, silently simmering in her hatred of this man, for whom she had worked under, whose money she had spent, and who risked the life of her daughter, time and again. For this, she returned to Marcie's life.

"If all of that is testing," Marcie said, flippantly. "You'd make a lousy teacher, Quest."

"On the contrary, Miss Fleach, I thought I was an excellent teacher, for the lessons I wanted you to learn," Quest said. "Ambition-going out of your way to stop me, meant you wanted to be better at being a mystery-solver. Intelligence and resourcefulness-only a sharp mind could find the riddles' answers, and think her way through my traps, and, of course, ruthlessness-having you face death, and forcing you to use your limited resources to save others from death, would make you hard, uncompromising. Perfect qualities for what I propose."

"Which is?"

"I want you to be my heir," he said, ignoring the shocked look on his guests' faces. "Although I researched the concept, I can't live forever. I need someone who has the potential of becoming a super-scientist, and continuing my legacy when I die."

That truth was more stunning than any lie he could have told her. "Seriously? Uh, I read your bio…when I _was_ a fan of yours," she said, trying to recover. "Don't you already have an heir? Your son, Jonny. Ask him."

For the first time, Benton Quest looked unsure about his future. He stood from his desk and began to slowly pace. "I love Jonny dearly, but he doesn't have much of a head for business, and even less for super-science. I think he takes more after Race, than me. No offense, Race."

By the doorway, Race gave a mercenary shrug. "Hey, as long as the checks keep coming, Doc, you can offend me all you want."

"And as for his friend, Hadji," Quest continued. "His interests _are_ in the mind, but only on the mystical side of things, so, no."

Marcie turned triumphantly towards Race, and pointed at him, mockingly. "Ha! I guess he _did_ want me to join! Show what you know!"

"Marcie!" Anne scolded.

She regained her composure and returned her attention to Quest. "A tempting offer, Dr. Quest," she said, pretending to ponder upon it. "But what if I refuse?"

"Then," Quest said, emotionlessly. "I'll have to come up with a counter-proposal. Join me, or watch, as I test the machine on your mother."

"That's what this tête-à-tête was leading to?" Marcie asked, her righteous indignation rising, just as her heart was sickening with worry for her mother. "Great! I'm forced to follow someone else's destiny, again! It's bad enough that my own dad's doing it, but now, some mad scientist on the run, is, too?"

She didn't see Quest move until it was too late. A strong, thin hand whipped out and clutched Marcie from under her chin, just hard enough to get her undivided attention.

"I'm not mad, Miss Fleach," Benton insisted, coldly. "Just determined." He then released his grip, and regained his composure.

The already tense moment was then broken by the intrusion of Race yanking her mother back towards the doors' threshold.

"Leave my mother alone!" Marcie yelled at him. "Don't touch her!"

"Let go off me, you ape!" Anne yelled, as she tried to shake herself out of Race's iron grasp, all in vain.

Quest gave a casual stretch to the drama being played out before him.

"Race is right, my dears," he said, smoothly. "We must cut this touching moment short. Time is, quite literally, of the essence." He gave his watch a friendly tap to illustrate the point.

He walked around to meet Anne, and gestured gentlemanly past the doorway. "Ladies first. Next stop, the future!"


	6. 6

_6~_

The Hour Arch, as the time machine had been dubbed by the scientists who had the honor of working on it, was now complete, and erected on a dais that was suspended on a set of tracked wheels.

Cables still trailed from the Arch's "feet", but now, they were connected to other satellite computers, set up around the Arch to monitor its functions and condition.

Underneath the crane gantries and various-sized, industrial, robotic construction arms, a few mechanical engineers and electricians remained on the premises to repair, or even disassemble the machine, if needed. However, it was the computer programmers and temporal theoreticians who ran the show, and right now, they were busy with what they could charitably call a glitch.

Those who had a moment to stop working, had a chance to catch a glimpse of Marcie and Anne, Benton and Race, and two escorting guards, walking across the busy assembly room towards Quest's dark, yet uncompleted, dream.

"We're almost on schedule, but we've hit a snag," Quest said to them, as they closed in on the Arch. "Since I failed to acquire those sturgeon eggs that I wanted, I will need something else to test the machine, while it's being worked on,"

"How was future caviar going to help you?" Marcie asked. To her credit, she didn't divulge her hand in keeping those eggs from him, but it seemed like such a strange caper. She wanted to know why they were sought so badly.

"I needed test subjects for when I _did_ get the machine," he explained. "The T.H.R.O.B.A.C. was already damaged. Chances were that its safeguards were no longer working properly, and I needed something that could be affected by, say, breaches in the machine's atemporal confinement field, which protects the passengers from aging as they travel."

Marcie found herself nodding in appreciation to the weird logic in Quest's explanation. "Ah, I see. If the fish began to grow in the field while you sent them into, say, the future, then you'd know that there were gaps in the field. Sort of like a canary in a coal mine."

"Exactly," Benton grinned. "You see, Miss Fleach, you do have the kind of mind that I've been looking for in an heiress."

He sauntered over to Anne, luxuriating in her inner turmoil. "As for you, I wouldn't have dreamed of using any of my hard-working staff, but you, Anne, have made an excellent exception."

Finally, the guards stopped the procession a few yards from the towering, technological presence of the Hour Arch, and awaited orders.

"Behold, my guests," Quest said with a grand, flourishing gesture towards the machine. "My future seat of power, and the key to opening the doors to an eternal technocracy."

Humoring him, Marcie decided to do just that, and took a look at the conveyance, studying its details with a young scientist's critical eye.

The Hour Arch was simply that, a 16-foot tall metallic arch with cables winding up its length like ivy, giving it the appearance of some gothic piece of modern art. Glowing, retractable arms set inside its inner walls, pointed down to the next component of the machine, a dark, glassy cylinder, the size of an elevator car, that stood on the dais, between the legs of the Arch.

Marcie determined that it looked rough, but, then, it was a prototype, and prototypes rarely looked and worked as sexy as the finished product. Even if they were made from stolen technology, rather than developed on its own.

Quest, noticing that the teen was staring at the time machine, walked in front of the captive, smoothly pontificating and gloating as he went.

"Admiring my genius?" he asked.

"Sort of," she admitted.

"Look at the top of it. Look familiar?"

Marcie peered at it, again, fearing that she might have missed something. Something important enough for him to gloat over.

High above, set it the point of the Arch's summit, like a jewel in a giant ring, was a pulsating, hourglass-shaped device encased in a sphere that was as clear as glass, but Marcie surmised was made of stronger, more exotic, material. Thinner cables from the Hour Arch's upper curve were laced through the sphere and attached to the device.

Quest was right. There was something... _familiar_ about that particular object. The hourglass shape, the power that emanated and flowed from its core...

And its destruction...

"The core of the Hour Tower!" she gasped.

"The what, dear?" asked Anne, not following the issue being shared between the two of them.

"The Hour Tower, a time machine, believe it or not, and that's its power source," her daughter explained. "It belonged to a mysterious think tank, called Sundial. One of their scientists stole a prototype robot that had a Tower built in. I helped destroy it to save the town."

Anne was stunned. Incredible notions of time machines and mysterious think tanks faded with the shocking knowledge that her daughter faced mortal danger. If she had known that her Marcie would grow up to be such a daredevil and risk-taker, she would had never left her.

"You risked your life, Marcie Fleach?" Anne asked, her maternal concern rising to the fore, once again.

"To help people," Marcie defended. "You do it, too."

Anne waved a disapproving finger at Marcie. She could see where this was going. "Oh, no! This is not an case of _Monkey-see, Monkey-do_ , young lady. I am an adult. I pay taxes!"

"But, Mom-"

"No "buts"! We're going to have a little talk when this is over."

Marcie rolled her eyes in exasperation. Anne was so busy automatically making up for lost time, as a mother, that she failed to see that they might not live long enough to have that talk.

"Ugh!" Marcie sighed. "Anyway, it was stolen afterwards by Dr. Quest!"

Benton shook his head, slowly. "No, dear. Truthfully, I didn't steal the Hour Tower remains from the police, although I dearly wanted to. Your good friend, Mr. Greenman, beat me to it, I'm afraid. However, because he didn't have _my_ level of genius, he couldn't make it work, so I agreed to repair it for him, in exchange for my using it."

"That's why you two are working together," Marcie figured, while she spared another look at the arch. _'And that's_ got _to be 'the big thing' the bartender was talking about.'_

Quest strolled into the shadow of the time machine. "Please allow me to explain the Hour Arch's features. Oh, I need a volunteer. Miss Fleach, could you come up here?"

"No, thanks!" said mother and daughter, not sure on which Fleach he wanted.

With a quick snap and a point to Anne, Quest commanded the guard to grab and drag her towards the Arch.

"What are you going to do to her?" Marcie asked, while thinking of anything to get them both out of this.

Quest walked over to the dark cylinder that the Arch towered over, accompanied by the guard, and a greatly reluctant Anne. He then smugly began to show off the cylinder like a used car salesman, for Marcie's benefit.

"This is the Arch's control cabin, the only part of the machine that actually goes anywhere. Think of the Arch as a sling, and the cabin, as a slingshot," he said, proudly. "It contains the navigational controls that keep the occupants stationary in space relative to the Hour Arch's position on Earth, yet moves their collective mass through time, as well as a tachyon communication loop with the Arch, telling it where to sling the booth, and when to pull it back home."

The guard opened the glossy, black door and shoved the struggling woman into the seated cabin. She fell into the curved couch in the back, and managed to give a desperate look at Marcie, past the guard, before the curved door closed smoothly and locked quietly.

Marcie, who looked equally stricken, was forced to hear Benton continue his talk.

"Before the Arch sends the cabin on its way, the cabin has to be enveloped in the atemporal confinement field, whose generator, a miracle of miniaturization, is built into the base of the cabin. If we send your mother to the future, she might become dust by the time she arrived at her destination, and if we send her in the past…well, you're a clever girl. You'll figure it out."

"Yes, I will," Marcie swore past clenched teeth. "I won't join you, Quest!"

"What happened to "Doctor"?"

"Doctors heal. They help. I don't see that here. As a matter of fact, let her go. I'll go in her place."

Quest gave an oily smile, glancing to the trapped woman. "A tempting offer, but your mother has tried my patience long enough, by helping you stand against my Questoid."

He marched towards a computer station, and asked its operator, "Do we still have control, here?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "The Hour Arch can be operated from here, until it's achieved full functionality, and can be operated from its cabin."

"Excellent." He met Marcie's pleading stare with a satisfied glance of his own. "Set the destination for...sixty years in the past, if you please."

He returned to his spot near Race, the guards and Marcie, triumphant.

"I know that women rarely own up to their ages," Benton gloated, coldly. "But I can make a rough estimate about your mother's. Sixty years should be enough time to wipe her from existence. I'm afraid that the Lab Rat has run her final maze."

Marcie hung her head. The failure was almost too much for her. It was almost too unreal.

Almost...

"Quest, if I ever do join you," she growled, her wet eyes burning into his smug face. "I swear that I'll do everything I can to destroy your little tin empire from within."

"Then, it's a good thing that I'm close to conquering time, Miss Fleach, so I can undo what you do," Quest countered. Then, he pointed to the operator. "Proceed."

The computer operator's fingers flew along the keyboard, sending commands to the cabin's navigation computer, starting the sequence of protocols and events that signaled the activation of the Hour Arch.

The lights of the Arch's inner arms began to pulse and they began to extend down from their holes, pointing at the top and sides of the cylinder, and Anne, inside. Suddenly, charged particle beams from the arms tips struck the air around the cabin in perfect sync, cocooning it in a ethereal glow.

Marcie was lost. She couldn't think, either from the desperation of the situation, or from just not finding a solution in time. Whatever the reason, all she could do, as her heart sank, was watch her mother, who she just found after years of separation, die before her eyes.

Her hands clenched in anger at Quest, at Mr. Greenman, and herself, but she kept them at her sides. Then, one of her wrists bumped against the hard, round object in one of her lab coat pockets.

In all the excitement, she had forgotten that Anne had slipped something into it when they hugged in Quest's office, earlier. What was it?

Marcie surreptitiously slipped a hand into the pocket to feel what was in there. It was covered in bumpy surface details, like the skin of a grip. It was meant to be grabbed, or manipulated.

Then, her thumb stroked against a stub that rose from an angle on the object. She had an dubious idea of what it was, but time was literally running out for her mother. She had to take a chance.

She depressed the thumb button, pulled out the object from her pocket, and let it fall by her feet. Then, she closed her eyes, and prayed that she was right.

The men around her noticed the device fall to the floor, but before they could turn and run, everyone in a yards-wide radius of Marcie, lost their ability to see, in a literally blinding flash.

Anne's flash grenade went off successfully, and even though Marcie closed her eyes prior to detonation, because she was at ground zero of the blast, even _her_ vision was affected.

She broke into a stumbling run towards the machine, guided more by memorization of its location, than true sight. What she could make out was a blurry illumination of everything ahead of her, but she was making better progress than the rest of the people around her, who she could hear crashing into computer stations, tripping over cables, or bumping into themselves.

Finally, Marcie collided with the cabin's face and clumsily felt for the latch to open it. Soon, she found it and unlocked the booth, setting of safeguards that _did_ work, shutting down the whole machine with a loud, dying thrum.

"Mom! Are you alright?" Marcie asked, as she thrusted a probing hand into the interior, hoping against hope that she could feel another hand.

When a trembling hand did grab hers, Marcie let out a silent, grateful word of thanks, and pulled her Anne out.

With the flash's effects starting to wane, Marcie remembered the direction of the entrance to the assembly room, and ran, pell-mell for it, pulling her mother along , and not sparing a single glance in back of her. She knew they had to hurry and escape, for if her vision was clearing, so was Quest's and the others.

The consternation behind them sounded softer and more distant as they ran across the expanse of the chamber, and finally reached the steel door.

Marcie grabbed the door handle, gave it a wrenching twist, and swung it open, allowing them to enter one of the complex's Assembly Section hallways.

Sprinting over to a waiting elevator, they both jumped in, Marcie scrabbling across the floor buttons and punched one that she hoped would take them up and away from the mad Doctor Quest, at least, for the moment.

As the car ascended, she leaned wearily against the car's wall, while she caught her breath, thinking about her past escapes, and how they might have compared to this one. She didn't even care. They were safe, for now, and if they were fast enough, they were going home.

"That..." Marcie wheezed. "...was too close. I'm _seventeen_ , and I'm saying that I'm too old for this..." She took a better look at her mother, and was too shocked to speak any further.

If Marcie stood up straight, Anne would just come to her chin. Anne stood in clothes that were too awkward and baggy for her, now, smallish frame, her bodily proportions, no longer indicative of an older person, but of someone much, much younger.

"Well, considering the circumstances, my dear," the girlish voice of the youthful Anne Fleach, said, while she hiked up her loose clothes with a troubled shrug. "I have to say that I'm too _young_."


	7. 7

_7~_

"We're clear," Marcie reported to Anne, after peering out of the closet door, and seeing a pair of guards leave the office across the hall from them. When the guards left the hall entirely, she opened the door quietly, and the two ran into the office.

Silently closing the door behind her, Marcie watched Anne jog to her small desk, and take out a small mirror from a drawer. Then, her mother took time to examine the details, or lack, thereof, on her smooth, plump face.

A quick glance back towards Marcie, and Anne knew what she was thinking. Her daughter had moved heaven and earth to rescue her, and wanted to leave with her as fast as humanly possible, if not more so. However…

"I hate to tell you this, Marcie," Anne sighed, regretfully. "But we're going to have to figure out how to get back to that assembly floor, if I'm to have any chance of being normal again. Youth is fine, but I wouldn't want to relive puberty, if I can help it."

"What's the matter, Mom?" Marcie teased, still finding her mother's condition difficult to believe. "You weren't popular in those days?"

"Funny."

"How old do you think you are, now?" Marcie asked.

After another few seconds of studying her contours, Anne came to her decision. "I…think this is what I looked like when I was...twelve. Give or take a year. It's a good thing you took me out when you did."

Anne put the mirror on the desk, then, she pulled out her chair out, and climbed on it to reach a bland painting that hung behind the work area.

"What are you doing, Mom?"

"I can't leave without getting my folder," her mother said, swinging the hinged picture to the side to reveal a wall safe. "I had this installed a few years ago to keep my papers safe."

"What are they?"

"My life, well, my life as a scientist and inventor, really. Everything I ever came up with, whether it worked or not, is in this old folder. I suppose I kept it with me forever, it seems."

With a deft spin of the tumbler, the safe opened, and Marcie could see what her mother reverently slid out, a large, old, dog-eared folder.

Anne carefully tossed the folder on the top of the desk, closed the safe, and climbed down. Marcie locked the office door and went over to the desk, as Anne opened the fat folio.

Within was, indeed, Anne's whole scientific life, stuffed with penned diagrams and schematics, flashes of ideas and conceptual drawings scribbled hastily on scrap pieces of paper and fast-food napkins, and the corner of a single, upside-down photo peeking out from the pile.

Curious, Marcie took hold of the corner, and carefully pulled it out. Turning it over, she saw that it was a photo of the whole family having a picnic. Winslow, Anne, and little, four-year old Marcie, playing with a toy robot.

"We took that so long ago," Anne said, wistfully. "And you were so smart, even then. Did you know that you could read when you were two? We were so proud of you, Marcie."

Marcie's stomach began to knot up with emotions that only an old picture could summon. She almost regretted removing the photo, as if it was a plug that kept the uncomfortable questions from coming. But, now, that it was pulled free, they felt like they needed to be asked, at last.

"Mom," Marcie asked, softly. "Did you…love Dad?"

Anne sighed. It was a long time in coming, but she knew that her daughter deserved the answer to that question, and many others. She pushed the office chair around to Marcie, and sat.

"I did love Winslow very much, dear," she said, her words looking strange coming from a pre-teen. "I was a forensics scientist, working for some big city police department. I was young, er, older, hard-working and a little cocky. That attitude came back to bite me.

"A man named Deacon Caldswell was captured in connection to a huge embezzlement scheme. All evidence pointed to Deacon as the likely suspect, and at his trial, my forensic work was used to prove his innocence. The trouble was that my work was…flawed, and as a result, it incriminated him.

"Later, it was revealed that I made mistakes in my conclusions and caused his false imprisonment. Even though that was enough for an appeal, the mess I made had me fired. Knowing that no one in the city would hire me, I left to start a new life, elsewhere.

"That elsewhere was Crystal Cove," Marcie guessed.

"Yes. I was hired by the police during a manpower shortage. This time, I learned my lesson, and was more humble in my work ethic."

Marcie was so riveted from the tail, she had forgotten all about Quest and his goons, for the moment. "So, how did you meet Dad?"

"During a case where a bank robber hid out in an amusement park, I met your father. I guess I've got a thing for glasses. We fell in love, got married, and had you, a year later. For a while, things were good for us," Anne related with a wistful smile. That smile soon fell.

"Then, came the hard times. Mayor Avacados, corrupt, and always in debt from gambling, would secretly steal money from the city budget. Seeing that the crime rate in Crystal Cove was low, he figured that the police didn't need as big a budget as they used to, and so he had it slashed, forcing the employees to take massive pay-cuts, including me.

"On Winslow's end, the park wasn't doing so well, so, he became more focused on it. He soon put more priority on it, than his family, becoming more and more miserly.

"It strained our marriage, and our finances, to the point where we didn't even have enough money to pay for our water bill, and thus, had to bathe in the recycled hot dog water he brought home from his park's concession stands."

Marcie shivered at the memory of those days. Days that doomed her to a moniker that haunted her, still.

"At that point, I had enough," Anne said, firmly. "Although it hurt to do it, I divorced him."

Marcie didn't want to comment on the divorce. It was their decision, and she couldn't bend it, either way. It just felt like the end of their story, just something that sadly happened to them, and to her.

"Couldn't I have come with you?" Marcie asked.

"I wish you could've, dear, but because of what happened to me in the Caldswell case, the court believed that I could make mistakes of a similar magnitude while raising you, so, I lost custody of you to Winslow."

"Oh."

"I moved away, after that. Good thing I had a van, because I wound up living in it, for a while, as I went from place to place. I figured that we wanted to keep the past in the past, which was why I didn't keep in touch with Winslow."

"But _I'm_ part of that past," Marcie said, the hurt showing through her statement. "Why didn't you try to contact _me_? Let me know where you were. Tell me that you were alright?"

There. The question she was most afraid to face, because it demonstrated that her assumptions had, once again, caused another innocent to be penalized. Marcie deserved to know.

"I didn't keep in touch with you because I didn't…know...if I should have," came the uncomfortable answer.

"I don't understand."

Anne sighed. "I didn't have much luck finding anyone who wanted a scientist. Jobs were filled in every place I went. What kind of life could I give you, living in a van and bouncing from town to town?"

Marcie frowned at that. What that the kind of life was Velma living, now? Living like a vagabond, and traveling wherever whim would take her?

Coming from Anne, it sounded like a hard life, until she imagined a life of just her and Velma riding free, together. Being with someone she loved made living like that bearable, even pleasurable.

Someone like her mother.

"I wouldn't have cared, Mom," Marcie told her. "If I got to be with you, it wouldn't have matter what we did, as long as we were together."

"I know that, now, darling. But, back then, I was so wrapped up in trying to survive, I didn't…I didn't…think of you," Anne confessed, the tears welling in her large eyes, and the shame of years, almost made her look old, again. She hung her head, low, feeling unworthy to look at her daughter in the eye, anymore. "I'm so sorry, Marcie."

Marcie watched her mother, mentor, and friend, break down on her chair, looking every bit the sad, little girl that she felt inside.

She realized that her mother could have done more to keep their relationship strong, but a maturity within told her that it was a confusing time for her and Winslow. That, as parents, it was hard, sometimes, to remember that they are human, too, and could screw up as well as anybody.

 _'Even me,'_ Marcie thought, as she walked over and hugged her little mother.

"I understand, Mom," she whispered. "It's okay."

"It's _not_ okay," Anne sobbed, softly. "You needed a mother, while you were growing up. Even though Winslow and I were separated, didn't mean that you had to suffer, because of us. There's no excuse for it."

Giving Anne an understanding smile, Marcie released the hug, but still held her, at arm's length, by her shoulders, and looked deep into her, to emphasize her next words.

"But, that was in the past, Mom," she said, sincerely. "I'm stronger, now. It wasn't easy, at times, but I had a very good friend, and your memory, to help me through those tough times. Trust me. I took after you, after all."

Anne slowly lifted her head, feeling the forgiveness radiate from Marcie, like a sun. A sun she feared would never shine on her, again.

"Are you sure that it's okay?" she asked, feebly.

"I promise, Mom. It's okay."

This time, it was Anne who reached out to hug her daughter, who gladly returned the favor.

Then, Anne hoped off the chair, wiped her eyes, and took a cleansing breath, blowing the ghosts of the past, once and for all. She felt exorcized. She felt alive.

Feeling like a mother, again, she stood before Marcie, and looked at her, appraisingly.

"Well, let me look at you," she said. "My goodness, you're as tall as a weed."

"Yeah, _now_ ," said Marcie.

Anne smiled and looked at the lab coat that Marcie was wearing. It looked like she was born to wear it. Old thoughts of seeing Marcie becoming a successful scientist returned, in force, and she finally gushed, "Oh, baby. I always knew, someday, I'd see you dressed in white."

Knowing what that sounded like, Marcie muttered, shyly, "Mom..."

* * *

Although Anne's new size made her stand out among the scientists who moved through the research floor, like worker ants, they were so concerned with their work, that they hardly noticed her.

She and Marcie headed non-chalantly for the elevator that would take them back to the lower levels, where, if they were lucky, they could sneak back into the Hour Arch chamber, and reverse the process.

"I almost forgot to ask," Marcie said to her mother, in low tones. "But, how did you ever get hooked up with a man like Quest, anyway?"

Anne said, "Well, when I came to Gatorsburg, to look for work, I decided to get a drink at this run-down dive where washed up mad scientists go to forget their troubles."

"You mean, The Dirty Test Tube?" Marcie asked.

Anne raised an eyebrow. "How do you know about that place?"

"Oh, uh, somebody mentioned it, once."

"You've been there, haven't you?"

Marcie sheepishly confessed. "Yes."

Anne sighed, maternally. "We're going to have to talk about this, Marcie. Anyway, I meet Race Bannon, who tells me that Dr. Quest is looking for scientists to work in his Gatorsburg lab. Of course, I jumped at the chance to work with the famous Quest, and so, I began my new life, working there.

"Life was fine, and I'm busy, but then, I started to hear rumors that Benton was obsessed with time travel theory. I finally learned from the water cooler, that he lost his wife in some accident, and he wanted to use time travel to bring her back."

"That explains things," said Marcie.

"After being constantly turned away by Sundial, he became reckless, even law-breaking. That's why the scientific community shuns him, now. But, when I heard that he had business in Crystal Cove that had some connection with you, I got worried."

"That's when you donned your goggles, and became the scientific sentinel of the city...Lab Rat!" Marcie said, in the style of an old radio narrator.

" _Shhh!_ "Anne hushed, eyes darting from one oblivious worker to the next. "Before Quest discovered my little secret, I would, sometimes, learn about his plans, and throw a little monkey wrench in them. In fact, I wonder how he finally found out who I was."

Marcie guiltily looked away, remembering her slip of the tongue in front of Deeds, in the bar, earlier. "I guess it's a mystery, Mom. Besides, I figured it out, too."

"Fair enough," Anne shrugged. "Want to be my sidekick?"

Marcie rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's great, Mom," she said, sarcastically. "And what should I call myself? Chemical Girl?"

"Smart-aleck," Anne muttered. "Anyway, I wanted to protect you from whatever Quest and his mysterious business partner were cooking up. Who knew it would be a killer robot, huh?"

They were a few from the elevator, when its door opened, revealing an attractive Indian teenager, wearing his traditional garb of a jeweled turban and Nehru jacket ensemble.

"So _that's_ where you were hiding," he chided, in clipped English, before raising a hand towards them. The duo didn't have time to run.

Some invisible force, like a giant, unseen hand, clutched their bodies, and lifted them slowly in the direction the Indian mentally guided, which was back where they came.

"That's...Hadji, Mom," Marcie tried to introduce to Anne, while she struggled to get free.

"I know...dear," Anne gasped.

Hadji Singh confidently walked past the scientists, holding his captives aloft like party balloons. If any of the workers had any objections as to what was transpiring, for the sake of their jobs, if not their lives, they stayed silent.

He arrived at a chemical laboratory, and opened its door with an imperious twitch of his other hand. Upon seeing him, the lab chaotically emptied of all frightened personnel, leaving him alone to toss mother and daughter to the far side of the room, with a flick of his hand.

"This is a place of experimentation," Hadji said, calmly, watching them, as they stood. "Before I bring you back to Dr. Quest, I will test my mental skills on you. Prepare."

Anne managed to think of the word, "Huh?", before she felt the cloying sensation of another mind quickly entering hers, her muscles tensing for action.

Then, Hadji moved his puppet.


	8. 8

_8~_

"You refused to help the great Doctor Quest," Hadji said, settling into his control of Anne. "Now, he is forced to do without your help. But, no matter. His glorious temporal empire will still see the light of day, and with a working time machine, it will be everlasting."

Marcie snapped her fingers. "You see? I knew this was a cult of some sort!"

She then turned to her mother. "Mom, what are you doing?" Marcie asked, suspiciously, looking into Anne's eyes, and not really seeing... _her_.

Anne walked over to a work table, where two devices stood on wire display stands. Looking like a black and silver-gray backpacks, they were composed of a vertical, motorized carousel, topped with small containers filled with individual chemicals, and a miniature, portable tank. A system of hoses coming from the packs' side, fed a single, large gauntlet with articulated nozzles for finger tips.

With an empty nod of encouragement from Hadji, Anne, mechanically, took one of the packs down and began to slip it, and the gauntlet, on. However, because of her smaller frame, both components felt awkward and loose.

"Put...the other one on, Marcie," Anne bade her, as she walked from the work table to one of the lab's counters. "Hurry!"

Unsure of what was going on, Marcie did as she was told, grabbing the other pack and putting it on. Then, she turned to watch what her mother would do, next.

"Mom, what's going on?"

Anne managed to glance behind her, in their captor's general direction. "My mind...Hadji's in...my mind! He wants me to kill you. I don't...want to. You'll have to stop me."

Marcie didn't like the connotation of the words, 'stop me.' "You know that I won't fight you," Marcie said. Of that, she was the surest of.

Then, to change the subject, while getting some more information about her situation, she asked, "What are these things we're wearing?"

"These were experiments that my floor was working on," Anne said, stopping her inner fight with Hadji long enough to proudly explain. "LabPaks. Mobile laboratories for chemists in the field. Each one has basic chemicals in storage cartridges, a motorized blender system to mix them into other chemicals, and a compressed air tank to send them through the hoses into the dispersion glove. Oh, and they're voice-commanded. My little touch."

A spasm of reinforced control from the Indian, forced the words, "Now, die," to leave her lips.

Anne raised her glove hand at Marcie, and quickly said, "H2SO4!"

The sound of the Pak's small motors heralded the rotating of its carousel, the built-in computer selecting and pumping the correct chemicals to mix and create what Marcie knew all too well.

Anne pointed her glove out, giving her daughter only moments to defensively react.

With a fearful dodge, Marcie leaped to the side, just as sulfuric acid, deadly and corrosive, streamed from her mother's outstretched fingers.

The acid splashed against a nearby chair that stood by the work table, and ate it away to a wilting, smoking heap of bubbling plastic, foam, artificial fabric and metal, its droplets perforating the surrounding floor, and flying towards Marcie, who had to scurry to a far corner of that side of the room, to avoid them.

Hadji took the time to study Marcie's movements, and frowned in the realization that she would never fight her mother, and because of that, would always act defensively, dodging, whenever possible.

 _'It's time to simply out-maneuver her,'_ he thought, coolly.

"You proved that you will not harm your mother," the Indian called out to Marcie. "Therefore, I must neutralize your small advantage." He gestured to his temple, and up ahead, Anne stiffened under protest of the new command.

"Noooo," she muttered, fighting against the order that, even now, had her thinking of the formula for her LabPak to create, next.

Under his insistence, she whispered the formula, so as not to tip Marcie off to what the chemical was. She then raised her gloved hand, and pointed it at the cornered Marcie.

A thick, clear liquid gushed from the gauntlet and coated the floor around Marcie's feet, and beyond.

Marcie took a moment to try and deduce what was sprayed. Too viscous to be an acid, she thought, and it gave the wrong odor. However, before she could piece together what it could have been, Anne announced, again, "H2SO4!"

Rather the chemical you know, than the one you don't, Marcie figured, stepping into the translucent fluid, and, to her horror and pain, immediately loosing her balance, and crashing to the floor in an instant.

From the corner of her eye, Marcie watched her mother raise her gauntleted hand, as she tried to right herself against the awkward weight of the LabPak, and the tractionless goo. She didn't have any more time.

An accurate, killing stream flew from the glove, closing the distance to annihilate flesh and bone, and that's when the idea hit her.

Marcie laid back down in the liquid, folded one leg in, and then kicked it hard against the corner wall, launching her body away from the attack.

She was safe, for the moment, but nothing, short of Anne's own willpower, would stop her from firing, again and again. Already, her mother was drawing a bead on her daughter, just as Marcie's momentum began to wan from siding all the way across the room.

Marcie's mind then began to nag at her consciousness over something Hadji had said to her. Something her mind refused to let go. Then, it hit her.

 _Neutralize..._

"H2SO4!" Anne cried out.

"NaOH!" Marcie countered, finally, hearing the motors of her pack mix her potions.

A murderous gout of acid burst forth and stretched across the room for prone Marcie, just as she reached out a hand to intercept it, and a stream leaped out from her glove.

Both streams collided, protecting Marcie, as her weaker base of sodium hydroxide began neutralizing the acid, creating a growing puddle of water, salt and thermo-chemical reactions underneath the battling elixirs.

Marcie, struggling, and finally succeeding, to stand, spared a glance at Hadji, who was now concentrating to maintain his hold.

Marcie could surmise that with mental control, emotion had a lot to do with that control, and she could see him endeavor to keep his in check.

"Hey, Hadji! Thanks for helping me out!" Marcie called out, hoping her taunt would make him loose his hold her mother, sooner than later. "I didn't know that you were a chemist, too!"

"What do you mean, you silly girl," he growled, as he projected a new command to Anne.

"You came up with a great... _solution_! Get it?" Marcie joked.

"Very...good, Marcie," Anne congratulated. "Now, please...stop...me."

Marcie ran desperate scenarios in her head to do just that. She had non-lethals, like her Discouragers, with her, but she couldn't bring herself to incapacitate her that way.

She soon didn't have time to think on it, before Anne spoke the formula, "HCl!"

Marcie raised her hand in defense of the next attack. "Hydrochloric acid, huh? I'll see your acid, and raise you another sodium hydroxide burst!" A spray of her base, then countered the new acid attack.

And so it went, back and forth. Mother and daughter waging a bout of chemical warfare, as though they were dueling alchemists, calling out their formulae, like magical spells, to the cruel fascination and delight of Singh.

Anne clenched her gauntlet in Hadji-projected frustration, yelling to Marcie, in challenge, "HNO3!"

"Nitric acid?" Marcie deduced, before countering with another base. "Potassium hydroxide! KOH!"

Anne could begin to sense the mental link with Hadji being two-way, feeling his frustration in having the battle last as long as it did. The window of a strategy was opening to her, however unlikely.

"Marcie, I know what you've got in your jacket. Use it! Use it on me!" Anne commanded, nodding at Marcie's chest...and giving her an almost imperceptible wink.

It came back to her Discourager, again, Marcie fretted. She hated having to choke her, but the longer the fight dragged on, the riskier it became for her. She sighed and reached into her jacket, only to stop when Hadji called her.

"Stop, Marcie Fleach. I just read your mother's surface thoughts, and I know what she wants you to do," he warned. "If you use your...what do you call it? Discourager, on her, I'll make her spray herself with acid."

To prove his threat, she automatically raised her glove to her face, fingers pointed at her worried eyes.

"Thus, ending the battle, but not in the way she may have wanted," Hadji finished, smugly. "Now, give it to me."

"What is your problem, huh?" Marcie fumed.

"I have no problem, Marcie Fleach," Hadji said, smoothly. "This is just my way of testing myself, to develop my _dispassion_ for compassion, to please my benefactor, Doctor Quest, and to show all of you, rather ironically, that science is no match for the awesome power of the human mind."

Marcie slowly slipped her hand into her jacket, and took out the capsule. She then tossed it across the room in Hadji's direction.

Hadji raised a hand, and the capsule stopped in its arc, drawn into his palm. He held it gently, rolling it this way and that, in an attempt to understand what it was.

"Look, I don't want to tell you what to do, and all," Marcie pleaded. "But please, don't break it, or anything. It took forever for me to make it, and I can't make another one for a long while."

"So, this a prototype?" he asked. "What does it do? Answer, or your mother won't live long enough to even _look_ like a mother."

"It's a non-lethal," Marcie sighed. "It uses sound waves to put you to sleep, but, I'm begging you, don't break it. It's really fragile."

Hadji gave a confident smile, as he placed the capsule between his thumb and forefinger.

"I'm impressed that you could build something so tiny to stop your attackers. It's unfortunate that your attacker was far more formidable than your little device. Again, the power of the mind gives me what I want."

He crushed it between his fingers, and watched for her reaction. Just as Marcie, eagerly watched for his.

The blue fluid oozed out of the breakable shell, into his hand, and down his sleeve, perplexing the Indian, momentarily. Then, he began to feel a profound cooling sensation run through his arm, as the Insta-Ice chemicals reacted with the air, and started to encase the limb, and indeed, that entire side of his upper body.

"What...is happening...to me?" Hadji gasped under the squeeze of the expanding ice, and its unrelenting cold.

"So much for the awesome power of the mind," Marcie said, flippantly. "Now, release my mother, or by the time I'm done with you, you won't thaw out until next spring."

Fear and confusion replaced the control and power that had previously filled Hadji's mind, and up ahead, Anne's body relaxed, as the Indian teen's influence was exorcised from her, at last.

"How..." Hadji managed to ask, when the ice crawled up his numbing neck.

"Your mental powers were strong. Telekinesis, mind control, and, I suspect, telepathy, as well. However, it left you a bit vulnerable," Anne explained, while she pulled Marcie over the slippery concoction on the floor. "I could feel your emotions, especially your frustration, which gave me the perfect moment to _think_ some bait your way."

"The...Discourager. It was a ruse?"

"No. Not really. She really _did_ have those with her, and I hoped that she might use them on you, but she's my daughter," Anne said, proudly, giving Marcie a hug. "She took my original concept and made it better."

"Hence, my Insta-Ice, instead," Marcie said. "I'm afraid, we lied to you, or rather, I tricked you, and _my mother_ lied to you. Sorry."

Hadji stared into their smug eyes and hated _himself_ for being duped so thoroughly. "No! _Mine_...is the stronger...will!" he choked in his defiance. "My discipline is..." By then, the ice had engulfed his face and most of his head, and he was forced into silence.

"Hmm. I guess he couldn't control you, and deal with me at the same time," Marcie figured, as both girls jogged out of the laboratory.

"Good thing, too," Anne agreed, as they headed for the elevator. "Now, we have to get back to that time machine."

Entering the car and depressing the button for the lower levels, Anne gave Marcie a friendly point at her back.

Marcie turned her head to see that, in her fervor to leave the lab, she had forgotten to remove the LabPak that she carried.

Pragmatically, she decided to hold on to it. It could come in handy where they were going. "Oh, before I forget, cool designs on that LabPak," Marcie complimented.

Little Anne's face beamed. "Why, thank you, dear! By the way, did you know that we were _also_ working on a non-lethal that puts people to sleep? True story!"


	9. 9

_9~_

The first of many red flags, that was raised in Marcie and her mother, was the fact that there wasn't an armed guard posted in front of the door that led back into the Hour Arch's assembly chamber.

Marcie reached for the door handle, but was stopped by Anne's words and her small hand.

"Careful," Anne warned. "It definitely feels like a trap."

"You're preaching to the choir, here, Mom, but we have to get in there," Marcie said, turning the handle. The duo walked across the threshold into an unexpectedly silent place.

The workers and technicians had all departed, as had Quest, Race, and the guards. The overhead lights remained on, but there was no one manning the other heavy machinery within. No sound of welders or cutters, of instructions being given or received. Just the heavy air of silence, and the dread anticipation of an ambush, hanging over the wary girls.

"Now, I _know_ it's a trap," Anne whispered, her eyes trying to dissect every shadow that an unmanned vehicle or object cast, to find a hidden threat.

Marcie, for her part, kept her eyes sweeping the high ceiling and the floor for booby traps, and the prize they sought.

Ahead, the Hour Arch stood alone and inert. Its size, design, and very appearance made it look like some unearthed, technological alter waiting for its due of offerings.

Marcie gave a casual thought as to what would constitute as an offering. Her mother? In a way, yes. Even though she thought it foolish to look upon their actions as something so primitively ritualistic, by physically giving Anne up to the Arch, something of a religious causality _would_ occur.

For a moment, the Arch would satisfy its existence by working, albeit, now well, and Anne would eventually become whole again, through the Arch, by sacrificing her younger years to it, as the ultimate payment for services rendered.

If an ancient people were to come across this towering wonder, how could they not think of this as the very pinnacle of magic.

The scientist in Marcie dispelled such notions from her mind, and focused on the task at hand, watching out for danger, as they closed in on the Arch. So far, they were the only people making a sound, their collective footfalls echoing, as they walked deeper into the chamber.

Of the row of on-line computer stations that faced the Arch, earlier, only one was active, now, its cooling fans humming loudly.

"This was the computer that operated the Arch," Marcie said. "I guess they left this one on for some reason."

Facing its keyboard, Marcie noticed a something on its monitor, a sheet of paper taped to its face, apparently put there for someone's benefit. A checklist of the computer's start-up.

While she continued to look at it, she frowned. Something was wrong about all of this.

"Keep your wits about you," Anne cautioned, fighting the youthful urge to run into the Arch's passenger cabin, flat-out. Living as long as she had gained her a patience and maturity that tempered her thoughts, now, and looked out of place within her girlish appearance.

The same couldn't have been said about her daughter, however. Oldest of the two, or no, Marcie's only thoughts, as they walked into the shadow of the Hour Arch, was to restore her mother, and that gave her the impetus to run up to the cabin without another thought to traps.

Anne sighed and shock her head worryingly, as her daughter jogged up to the cabin door. Impetuous youth. It could strike down even the most knowledgeable.

"We made it, Mom," Marcie said, grinning for her mother, triumphantly. "Now, we can get you fixed." Without another word, she opened the obsidian door, and ushered Anne inside.

"Are you going to be okay, Marcie?" Anne asked.

Marcie smirked. Only a mother would worry about her child's welfare, even though _she_ was the one in dire straits.

"I'll be fine, Mom," Marcie coaxed. "I just hope this works. It would just be too weird to have a little girl as a mother. PTA meetings would be a blast, though."

"We can talk about all of that, once I'm...I can't believe I'm saying this...my _old_ self, once again," said Anne, the anxiety of the moment touching her. "Although, for all of the pitfalls that come with it, science _is_ magnificent, Marcie, and here, with us standing it its midst, is a true example of its majesty."

Marcie would have agreed, wholeheartedly, but only after this magnificent, majestic hunk of pig iron got her mother back to normal. "Okay, get comfy, Mom. I'm going to close you up. Wish me luck."

"All right, dear," Anne said. "But you don't need luck. You're a Fleach."

A proud smirk played across Marcie's face, as she backed off and started to close the door. She made sure to take one good look at her mother before the door closed, in case, Heaven forbid, worse came to worse.

The glossy, black door sealed her in with a soft click, as Anne settled into her spot on the curved couch behind the cabin's control pedestal.

In the quiet dimness, she had a chance to collect her thoughts and reflect on what had happened. If all went well, Marcie would figure out how to operate the machine and gradually bring her back to her correct age. But that brought in a new line of questions. Or more to the point, notions. Disturbing ones.

The Hour Arch worked, she thought, then corrected herself. It was _getting there_. She was physical proof of that. But, even a intellect, like Quest, could eventually see the potential of a happy accident.

If he could somehow replicate the flaw in the machine's protections, he could produce the ultimate interrogation tool. Painless, yet capable of wiping a person from existence, if non-compliant.

It could also be weaponized. She imagined grenades releasing unshielded, limited-range temporal energy capable of erasing whole squads of enemies from space and time, in an instant. Assault rifles with that same effect across a father range, and then, the ultimate expression of this sanitized terror, a bomb, with enough radius to reduce a city into a ghost town, in less time that it took to detonate.

Hadji had gloated about Quest's technological dictatorship, that it would be eternal. By copying the effects of the Hour Arch's current condition, Quest and his family/ inner circle, could live indefinitely by entering this fountain of youth-in-disguise, and aging back to their prime and vigor.

And the cowed masses need never fear about Quest reinstating the draft, not when strong, loyal, mass-produced, military-grade Questoids could easily swell his ranks.

It was a nightmare scenario, to be sure, and, looking around, Anne knew that she was sitting in the very seed that would one day bear such horrific fruit.

She only hoped, while she waited, that with her returned age, would come the wisdom to figure out what to do, next.

Marcie went to the humming computer station, and hovered her delicate fingers over the keyboard, ready to type in the commands that would bring this behemoth to life, again. Then, her stomach twinged from a disquieting thought.

"Wait a minute. Only those people assigned to work on the Hour Arch's systems would know how to turn this thing on," Marcie posited. "So, why would anyone tape instructions on how to operate the computer, just for them? The only people who wouldn't know how to use it are my mother and me. Who would give us such an advantage?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" came a cocky male voice from behind.

The answer came in the form of a hand coming down onto her shoulder, followed by another hand grabbing her wrist on the opposite side. Before she could react, both hands found the leverage they needed, and effortlessly flung Marcie away from both the computer, where she crashed into a rolling heap.

However, in the middle of the martial arts throw, Marcie had gotten a look at the blonde boy who accosted her.

She shook her head to reorient herself from the toss, and saw him. A blond teenager who gave his stunned sparring partner a wise-acre grin, and walked up to her with all the self-confidence of a celebrity disembarking from a limousine.

"Not bad, huh?" asked the teenager. "Race taught me that. Heck, he taught me everything I know about fighting."

Marcie was flabbergasted. She didn't think _he_ would be doing Quest's dirty work, as well, but then, she realized, like father, like son.

"Hey, how are you doin'? Jonny Quest. No autographs," he acknowledged with a casual point of his finger at her, the hand curling into the shape and pantomime of a gun. "Guess what? I just got a telepathic shout-out from Radio Free Hadji. He tells me that he failed catching the two of you, and that you had him walking in his own winter wonderland. So, I asked Pop if _I_ could get a crack at it. Gave me my blessing, right there and then, and set it up so I can waste you two, without any interference!"

"Wonderful," Marcie muttered, recovering from the attack.

"I know!" Jonny crowed, as he approached. "What a dad! Right? Wait! I know you. You're that girl Pop's been talking about, lately. Little Miss Chemistry Set."

"Indeed!" Benton's voice intoned from above. Marcie looked up to see a red-headed man leaning over the catwalk's railing, calmly observing everything.

"Miss Fleach, I cleared everyone out of here for a reason, both to satisfy my son's eagerness to _help_ , and to impress upon you what you have walked into," Quest explained. "I knew that because of your mother's unique condition, you would have to return here. You're correct about the sheet of paper on the computer. It _is_ the very start-up sequence to activate the Hour Arch.

"So you left that there as, what, more bait for your trap?"

"Bait that you couldn't refuse, Miss Fleach. We both know that you couldn't work the time machine otherwise. You and your mother are caught, but, please, don't think of this place as a trap, but more like a gladiatorial crucible, a Coliseum of Science, where I can examine the invention I came up with, first-hand."

Jonny glanced up at the catwalk that circled under the ceiling. "Well, let's give him a good show. Don't wanna disappoint him, y'know?"

Marcie lifted her LabPak's gauntlet, but before she could utter a formula, Jonny raised his hand to halt her.

"Ah, ah, ah!" he admonished her. "Check this out."

He lifted his black T-shirt above the waist, revealing a boxy device clipped to his belt buckle. "Portable shield generator prototype. A little gift from my dad, while I'm testing it out. Sure, it looks like he's a little over-protective, but, hey, I'm worth it!"

Whatever Jonny would have said, next, came out as a tortured, echoed yelp, several octaves high, when Marcie stretched out a leg and whipped a fast kick into his groin that stopped his advance, and made him stumble back in pain.

"Hey, Quest!" Marcie called out. "I think I found your shield's weak spot!"

From above, Dr. Quest sighed aloud, "It won't work if you don't turn it on, Son!"

"Yeah. Sorry, Pop," Jonny groaned, trying to catch his breath.

Marcie gave a laugh, as she stood up. "You sound more like a _Joannie_ , than a Jonny, just then!"

Still hunched over, he reached under his shirt, turned on the device, and then gave a moment to regard this impudent girl, while an aura of blue, the activation of the shield, could then be seen enveloping him.

"You're a nerd, but you've got sass. I like that," he told her, hoping to rile her up with what he said, next. "Your mom's a little too young for me, though, but I might be able to talk Dad into using that Hour Arch thing to age her up a little, once I'm done playing with you, that is."

The thought of his hands on her mother turned the girl into steel. "Young or old, she's still more mature than you are, you sociopath-in-training," Marcie countered.

Distance. That was the word that rang in her mind concerning Anne's safety. The farther away he was from her, the better off she would be. Considering that neither one could escape from the assembly room, at present, Marcie had to admit that the idea sounded good in her head, at the time.

"Besides," Marcie asked, tauntingly. "Why are you worried about her, anyway? Don't you want to play with me, Mister Lady Killer?"

"Actually, it's-" Jonny started to correct.

"Who cares? Come and get me!" Marcie yelled, giving a playful jog from the Arch, Anne and Jonny, over to a pile of equipment lying next to the side of a small crane.

"Hey! Don't run!" he mock-entreated her, walking from the Arch's external computer station, then saying to the cabin, "Look, you're her mother. Can you tell her to stop running?" He, then, looked back to Marcie. "They probably locked the door, already! Don't make me run! That's just not cool!"

Ignoring his jibes, and frantically fishing through the equipment, Marcie finally found and picked up a dented blowtorch, much to the amusement of her approaching pursuer.

"A blowtorch? Really? That's so _cute_!" Jonny cooed. "Little Miss Chemistry Set gonna toast me up?"

"No. I'm just going to give that shield of yours a good workout," she explained, pointing the blowtorch at him.

"C2H6O," Marcie said, quietly, not wanting his father to hear, and thus, warn him. A clear liquid soon sprayed from her gauntlet, to the floor by Jonny's feet, giving off a scent that he could recognize from all of his time spent with Race.

"What's that? Booze?" he laughed. "What are you trying to do, nerd girl? Get me drunk?"

"Nope, and that's not booze," Marcie corrected. "It's ethanol."

The spray coincided with her pointing the blowtorch into it, and hitting the chemical's flash point, a heavy gout of blue, smokeless, liquid flame immediately raced across the floor, just as he, and his father, above him, understood about the trap _he_ just walked in.

The makeshift flamethrower's fiery stream broke against a confident Jonny's outstretched palm, like a wave on a rock, washing over his hand, and over the rest of his body.

While she looked victorious, Marcie fretted inside. Jonny was still in the center of this conflagration, and his eventual death would just be one more thing Dr. Quest would want to chisel on her tombstone.

However, as steady as her glove was in producing the fuel for the torch to burn off, Marcie could now see that the most the stream could do was be deflected off of his palm, and puddle by his feet, where it settled, growing into a widening inferno.

Chagrined, she moved her hands apart, quickly realizing the danger she was causing, as the fire began to spread towards the vehicles and their vulnerable fuel tanks.

"H2O," she spoke, allowing the LabPak to create water, which she proceeded to spray all over the floor, killing the flames.

Jonny Quest's death, also, wasn't to be an issue, it seemed, as he neatly stepped over the dying flames, untouched, and faced her, still smiling that cocky grin of his. A light blue aura shimmering around his body.

"Forgot about my shield generator, have we?" he asked, mockingly.

"Nope, but I _was_ hoping I could overload it with a high enough amount of thermal energy," Marcie admitted.

"No chance, babe," Jonny bragged. " _I'm_ hotter than any fire, and it still works."

"A clever ploy, Miss Fleach. You are certainly putting my shield generator through its paces," Dr. Quest commended, while she continued to back away. "However, the shield absorbs kinetic energy, which means that as the burning stream of ethanol struck the shield, the kinetic energy of its splash was consumed on contact, causing the stream to simply fall to the floor, due to a lack of momentum, on its part. Kinetic energy, Miss Fleach, strengthens the shield, protecting him."

That was bad, and she was running out of options. "Mom! Mom! Start the machine up!" Marcie yelled, hoping she could hear her. "The computer outside operates it!"

"Yeah, _Mom_!" Jonny mocked, still stalking her with a casual stroll. "For all the good that'll do her."

"My son is correct, Miss Fleach," added the doctor. "The external computer stations temporarily take the place of the controls that will, eventually, be installed in the cabin. However, safeguards in the system will not allow passengers to operate the machine while the cabin door is open. So, your mother, like you, has quite the conundrum. She can't work the computer station, _and_ be in the cabin, at the same time. The moment she opens that door, to go in, or out, the system shuts off."

Jonny shook his head, morosely, and sucked his teeth to punctuate that point, as he followed Marcie with a patient, creepy menace. To him, this was the best part of his playtime with girls who had the misfortune of running into him. Their fear and confusion, his anticipation, and the quiet build-up before...they were no longer fun to play with.

So, as Marcie would periodically jog away when she deemed Jonny too close for comfort, he would just smiled and continued his slow-motion hunt.

Anne, however, had heard everything that transpired outside the door, even her daughter's yell, although she could barely hear everything else, due to distance.

"Marcie must have run into trouble before starting up the computer," Anne figured. "Meaning that I'm going to have to get things rolling, instead."

She opened the door and jogged out of the cabin, and to the sound of the still running station.

Taking the start-up sheet from the monitor and studying it for a few seconds, her small fingers began to fly across the keyboard, bringing the system to life. She sighed in deep relief at the sound of generators awakening and feeding power to the Arch's internal computers, sensors, and overhead core, just as text in green flowed along the monitor, giving digital commands that would not be countermanded by the time machine.

Thoughts of being her correct age buoyed her in the midst of her daughter leading that disturbed teenager away. She only hoped she could help her, in time, with her returned size and relative strength, after she was set right.

And then those thoughts began to die, her joy slipping from her fingers, at the sight of the single, blinking, blood-red word, that read, "Warning."

From the information she read from underneath it, she began to understand what Jonny meant when he mocked her efforts. Saving Marcie was always more important, but, now, to do so, could ultimately save her, as well.

"You know you gotta stop this cha-cha-cha-ing you're doing," Jonny purred. "You just gonna be tired when I get you, and that's no fun. For me."

Marcie ignored him and glanced back to where they came in. She wondered if she could get to the door and lead Jonny out, so she could buy Anne even more time to operate the machine. That sounded very unlikely in her mind, which was a shame. It seemed so doable when she though of it, beforehand.

In a strange bit of inspiration, Anne had the computer sheltered under an open tent made of a tarp held up on either side by a mop sitting in its individual bucket. Once that was finished, she left it.

For Marcie's sake, all Anne could do was watch out for her daughter, worry and slowly follow the two of them, more out of a lack of quick invention, at the moment, than from any fear she might of had of Jonny.

Her troubled trek took Anne past some of the equipment that the workers had set aside by a far wall, and with an absent glance towards them, Anne immediately recalled seeing a pair of arc welders sitting by a small crane, when Marcie and she first entered the assembly chamber, looking for ambush.

Thinking upon the nature of Jonny's shield, and its constructed biases on what could get through-atmospheric oxygen and visual light particles, a beautifully effective and desperate plan seized young Anne's brain, sending an electric thrill through her legs.

 _'It's been a long time since I felt that,'_ she thought, as she quickly and quietly jogged over to the equipment.

Nervously, Marcie happened to glance down and spot a hammer that a worker left by accident. She hopped over and scooped it up, causing Jonny to stop to see what she would do with it.

She cranked her arm back and whipped a pitch into his chest. The hammer got to within an inch of his sternum, then fell, literally, straight to the floor. Its forward momentum and kinetic energy halted dead by the properties of the shielding.

"Didn't you hear my pop? The stronger I'm hit, the stronger the shield. At least, my dad said so. Honestly, I can't get my head around all of that science stuff, but I bet you can appreciate it, right now, can't you?"

"Can't blame a girl for trying," Marcie said, wishing she had something to overload the shield. Just to wipe that wretchedly insufferable grin off of his smug face.

* * *

Finishing her handiwork, Anne looked up to see that Jonny was getting too close to Marcie for her liking. It was time to act.

"Hey, Jonny!" Anne called from her end of the chamber, hoping he would stop to hear, and more importantly, that Marcie would, as well. "I've got to admit that your shield is top-notch! Being able to selectively bias air and light, but keep away kinetic energies? That's pretty cool."

Jonny halted his stalking to regard the girl. "What can I say? My dad's an artist, and I know he's getting a hoot outta seeing his little invention perform. Don't worry, though. Once I'm through with Little Miss Chemistry Set, I'll focus all my attention on you."

"You touch my mother, and I'll motivate your father to get that time machine working to bring _you_ back," Marcie swore, wondering why Anne would say what she did. She should have hidden, or tried to escape.

Marcie had up-close-and-personal experience with the workings of the shield generator, so far. Things she threw at him simply dropped away, with a thud. That was in keeping with Dr. Quest's words on its absorption of kinetic energy. But that part about air and light confused her.

It would just make sense for Dr. Quest to design shielding that one could see out of and breath through...

And with that, Marcie gave a smile of pride for her mother so wide, her face hurt. Whatever Anne was doing far behind Jonny, she hoped it was worth the distraction that she decided to continue with.

"I don't know what your mother was talking about, exactly, but I just want to let you know that you're _almost_ backed up against this room's door," Jonny announced, pleasantly, watching Marcie notice a glint of malice in his eyes. "Just sayin'."

 _'I hope this works,'_ she thought as she, at last, stopped backing away.

"If you're thinking about whether this'll hurt, don't worry," Jonny soothed, his fingers eagerly curling. "I've done this plenty of times, and it doesn't hurt me, at all. Besides, I've been trained by Race, so I can make this quick."

"You're too kind," Marcie quipped, then said, calmly raising her gloved hand, "CCI2F2."

An icy blast of pressurized gas, that lightly smelled of sweet ether, surged from the finger-nozzles and obscured Jonny's face, blinding him and making him cough violently.

" _That's_ what Mom was talking about. You still have to breath through your shield, don't you, tough guy," Marcie taunted. "Let's see you do that while good ol' Freon freezes your lungs!"

"At least my lungs'll still...be in my body when I get...through with you, Little Miss... Chemistry Set," Jonny hacked, waving his arms through the miasma to clear his vision, and moving in on the girl's last seen location.

"Jonny!" Dr. Quest yelled above him. "Stop her!"

Marcie dodged the cold, heavy gas cloud, and ran, hell bent-for-leather, back towards the Arch, goaded, she could see from one side of the room, by Anne, who curiously stood next to a plugged-in arc welder.

Fighting against pondering that scene too much, Marcie focused on her run, knowing that Jonny would not be far behind.

A caution that Jonny was all too happy to confirm, as he tore, half-blind and gasping, after Marcie, red thoughts of what he would do to her, when caught, fueling him.

"C'mon, Marcie!" Anne yelled, as if this were a track and field event she was watching, instead of where they truly were. "Run!"

Marcie couldn't help but think the same way, when she saw the hastily made x made out of duct tape on the floor ahead of her. She could hear the athletic Jonny manically huffing closer to her. She needed to cross that x, first.

Marcie flew across the marker and turned her head to see what the meaning of the x was. It wasn't long in coming.

Jonny was mere feet from the marker, his sneakers moving in a blur of motion so fast, Anne was hard pressed to time what she had prepared, but just when one of his feet closed within inches before the marker, she struck.

Anne depressed the power button on the arc welder that she modified, on her side of the room, and a stream of electricity leaped across the span of the room, to connect to the end of the other powered and modified welder's wand.

Both arc welders instantly became one crude, yet massive Van de Graff generator, with poor Jonny caught in the middle of its ferocious circuit, as the entire chamber illuminated with the glowing strobe of a lightning stroke.

The stepped-up high voltage clothesline was powerful enough to do in the larger sense, what it once did in the smaller, strip the surrounding air molecules of their electrons, transforming them into an elemental envelope of superheated matter-plasma.

A lance of it easily pierced Jonny's shielding, exploiting the same bias that allowed air molecules to reach him, and for that selfsame instant, the new plasma was created from his shield-contained oxygen, and he became gloriously, albeit, painfully, incandescent.

The natural buzz of the artificial lightning echoed throughout the chamber, and almost drowned out the tortured yelp and anguished cry that came from both Jonny, the human light bulb, and his shocked and outraged father.

Anne turned off her welder a second after she turned it on. She didn't want to kill the boy, but she had to come up with a way to knock out his protection and incapacitate him, simultaneously. The whole event took just a moment to pass, and when it was done, it left Jonny a whimpering, smoking wreck.

The fire sprinklers quickly came alive, quickly, drenching everyone and everything below it.

"Oops," Marcie muttered, while she moved her wet, sticky hair from her equally wet face.

Seeing the two girls head towards him to, no doubt, admire their handiwork, Jonny tried to smile in his cocky fashion. He wound up grimacing, instead.

"Well…think of it this way," Jonny joked in pained gasps, the water mercifully cooling him. "With…all of this water…you won't leave that…big a mess…when my dad…gets through with the two of you."

Anne reached down and grabbed his T-shirt collar. "You're _still_ talking?" she asked, as she began to tug at him. Then, she glanced over at a confused Marcie. "Give me a hand, dear."

Marcie reluctantly obeyed, but had to ask, "Uh, why are we dragging him and where are we dragging him to?"

"To the Arch," Anne huffed, knowing that Benton was watching from above, intently. "I feel like negotiating."

With the floor beginning to pool slightly, it was becoming easier to move the inert teenager, while his father looked on, fearfully. What was their game?

Eventually, the two girls hauled Jonny up the Arch's dais, opened the cabin door, dumped him on the floor, and then slammed the door on him. Anne, then went to the tented computer.

"That's why you set that tarp over the computer," Marcie said, nodding in understanding.

"Yep," Anne explained, restarting the start-up sequence, again. "I knew, with the kind of temperatures we'd be dealing with, the sprinklers would turn on."

She raised her head to look up at the stricken father. "Dr. Quest, I would like to tender my resignation, but before I do, I would like to make a deal with you."

There was a heavy silence coming from the catwalk, but eventually, Quest spoke. "I'm listening."

"I know what you plan to do with this time machine. I feel for the loss of your wife, but that's not all you'll use this machine for. For the sake of the world, I can't let that happen."

A cold chuckle echoed above her. "Ever the heroic Lab Rat, eh, Miss Fleach?" he asked. "And how would you plan to stop me from achieving my goals? Concoct some exotic formula to make me change my mind?"

"No," she joked, coolly. "I was thinking of either turning your son back into a twinkle in your eye, or a Natural History exhibit."

Quest understood, immediately. "No! Not my son! You don't have to hurt him. If you want, I can come down there and reverse the de-aging effects on you, myself."

"Because I don't trust you, you'll understand if I say no."

Marcie stared at her mother, speechless. If there was any logical reason for this course of action, it was drowned out by the age-old fear of losing her again, somehow.

Forgetting herself, she grabbed Anne tightly by both arms. "What? Why are you doing this? I want you to...Don't you want to get back to normal?"

Ignoring the pain of her daughter's surprisingly strong grip, Anne gave a sad smile. "Oh, Marcie, what is normal, really? Isn't it subjective to-"

"Stop it!" Tears were budding in Marcie's eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because it has to done," her mother sighed. "You heard Hadji, earlier. That time machine must not be used to create Quest's new future. I'm going to force him to destroy it. I just hope he loves his son more than he loves global conquest."

She looked up at Quest. "Listen to me. I know that you have installed self-destructs in all of your hidden labs, in case you're discovered. You will let me and my daughter go, and then set this lab to detonate, or else you _will_ lose your son."

The sound of the assembly room's door swung open, and a squad of guards ran into the place. Two stood by the door and the others sprinted up to the girls and created a perimeter around them. Anne stared at Quest, looking unperturbed.

"What's it going to be? All I have to do is push one button, and you outlive your son," she said, icily.

Marcie stood silent, stopped by the dire logic of the situation, and let it play out before her. She was also perversely fascinated at this other side of her mother. She knew she was doing this to save theirs and as many people's lives as possible, but to witness a coldness to her that would have put her Insta-Ice to shame, was incredible to watch.

Inside, Anne held her breath, and waited. She had not intention of killing Jonny, despite what he was intending on the two of them. She was no monster, but this was the most dangerous moment of the game, the bluff. Would he call hers, or not?

The moment hung on the silence of Quest's decision, and Marcie was genuinely surprised that he was taking as long as he was at that decision. It should have been an no-brainer.

"Let them go," came the weary voice of Doctor Quest, and the guards moved back to give the girls space. That was part one done.

"The self-destruct, Quest," Anne reminded.

Quest raised a wrist holding a high-tech watch. He gave a quiet command, then said to her, "It is done."

Marcie wondered how far they could get to the door before the guards descended on them like wolves on a calf. There were no assurances made that Quest would keep his word, once they left the room.

Those thoughts were more or less answered by the deep and distant rumble being heard that made the guards look around nervously. A gradually built up vibration could be felt through everyone's legs.

"I think we should go, now," Anne told Marcie.

They started to run for the exit, Marcie looking up to see what the good doctor was up to, but the catwalk was deserted. She turned her head to see that they now followed by the guards, who were now, to her relief, passing the girls, instead of chasing them down.

Soon, everyone, guards and former captives, flew from the doorway, down a corridor, and into the nearest elevator, as claxons howled through every hall of the complex, and recorded messages pertaining to closest exits and blast radii were barely heard over the panicked screams of scientists, workers, and security, alike.


	10. 10

_10~_

For the last time, the steel door of the assembly room opened slowly, allowing three grim figures solemn entrance, followed by the trotting of a small dog.

As the door was left open, the sounds of a thriving, multi-billion dollar lab complex in its death throes, could be heard, and felt under their feet. The distant cries of fear through the corridor, outside, let the group know that chaos was the master of this house, and almost the entire staff's population were its frantic slaves.

A sudden quake made the pooled water on the floor ripple and shimmer. The overhead work lights flickered, faded, and then surged back to strength, a testament to the architectural design of the man who led this small procession towards the dais of the Hour Arch.

Doctor Benton Quest approached the dark cabin door and opened it gingerly, dire thoughts of his son's condition haunting him, fiercely. He saw what happened to Jonny from the trap, made from desperate genius, that ensnared him.

Lab Rat, for all of her meddling, did seem...honorable. She said that his son was all right, despite the plasma exposure, but even she couldn't guarantee that for long. Jonny needed medical attention, and he was too far away from the complex's sickbay to receive it.

Also, there was too little time. The subterranean explosives that surrounded the even deeper power plants of the complex were making sure of that.

"Jonny?" Benton called out, quietly, in the dark of the cabin.

"Dad?" came the weak reply, joyously heard by his father. Benton called on Race to enter and get his son, as he stepped back out to attend to his work.

Hadji and he had begun disconnecting the cables to all but the one computer station that was still functioning, under the tarp. The Indian brushed aside the makeshift tent, rolled the station up a ramp built into the side of the dais, then waited.

Quest raised his watch-wearing arm and depressed a small button over the watch's face.

Suddenly, a new sound of rumbling added to the cacophony in the room. Behind the time machine, the wide wall that it stood in front of, ponderously rose.

It was, in truth, a massive, armored slab of a door, revealing an industrial elevator that was just as cavernous.

"I got him, Doc," Race said, carefully exiting the cabin with his charge, wrapped in a protective black cloak, in his huge arms.

"Thank you, Race," said Quest, as he ascended the dais, once again, the family dog, Bandit, faithfully at his side. He, then, turned and addressed his people.

"We have what we came for, and not even Sundial could hold us back. Though this lab has been silenced by those... _Fleaches_..." He spoke the name as if it was a sharp profanity. "In the end, it was for nothing. The Quest destiny will _not_ be thwarted."

With that, he pointed his watch down, depressed another button, and the dais slowly started to move.

The Hour Arch was never supposed to stay berthed in the room, only built there, after it was painstakingly reverse-engineered, and then, moved to a more secure location. Although the machine still needed work, under the circumstances, there was no time like the present.

Trundling along on its tracked suspension, the huge platform began to back the whole of the Hour Arch and the Quest contingent within the lit shaft.

As the dais parked, and the elevator door started to descend, Benton gave a final view of the facility that had so dutifully provided him with the means to transform theoretical vision into physical, scientific reality. There were other labs all over the world, waiting to be activated, he knew, but he expected to lose one only due to a full-scale assault of the law, not because some disgruntled scientist/vigilante, and her daughter happened to cross his path.

So, he swallowed his bitter indignity, and silently vowed that for what happened to his son, and the destruction of his complex, they would not soon go unpunished.

* * *

All throughout the complex, to reach connecting elevators, mother and daughter had to shove their way through floors of terrified humanity, with Anne risking getting trampled on, for her troubles.

Finally reaching, and squeezing into, the elevator that led back up to the living room of Bellow Mansion, Marcie and Anne rode it with a very desperate crowd. When the elevator door opened, the house's foyer was illuminated with sunlight coming through the front doors of the house, which were surprisingly ajar.

Running, the girls exited to the porch, and Marcie glanced down at the faux alligator that she had to fool earlier to gain entry, and saw its smashed head lying inert beside its still reclining body.

This was done by some enterprising guard who realized that to not do so would mean that the gator would close and lock the doors every time someone entered or left the house. With the gator not working, the doors were, now, free from its control and left open for the fearful masses to pour out of.

Marcie noticed that Anne was silent, so, she looked over to where she stood, which was at the top of the porch's stairs, witnessing something. She followed Anne's lead and looked out from that same vantage point onto a sea of utter bedlam.

Scientists, security guards, technicians, engineers, janitors, stevedores, cafeteria staff, and even the dj from the lab's disco fought for entrance into already crowded buses, sometimes, literally getting into fist fights for passage. Those that didn't want to waste time in ultimately pointless combat, sprinted down the side road in a mob.

Another quake reached the girls from outside, shaking them from their fascination of the human condition. They hopped down the stairs and ran, slaloming past pugilists and scared staff workers towards the parked Clue Cruiser, just as buses, now filled to bursting, set off in a haphazard convoy down the side road, as well.

An explosion deep within the mansion announced itself, and the wooden ruin of the old house began to smolder, as smoke started flowing from already broken windows, the facade's colonnade began to topple and crush the porch, in places, and through the haze of the departing buses' dust, Marcie and Anne could see the deadly glow of a raging fire licking the front doors' threshold.

Thankful that no one had thought to steal the car, and with no further encouragement needed, they both jumped in, and Marcie floored the gas pedal, digging out of the parking lot like a hot-rodder, but being forced to slow down, soon after, as they brought up the rear of the bouncing bus convoy, up ahead.

"That was a pretty gutsy play, back there, Mom," Marcie commended her.

"Oh?"

"Quest couldn't call your bluff," she continued. "I knew that you wouldn't hurt Jonny, well, anymore than you _had_ to, but I knew you wouldn't finish him off. You're not a monster."

"Thanks, dear," Anne said. However, in her heart of hearts, if it came down to protecting her daughter, would she kill, without hesitation, without remorse? Destroying robots was one thing, but another person?

She shook such thoughts away and concentrated on what she needed to say, next, while slipping her hand into her baggy lab coat.

"I have to go away, again, Marcie," she finally said.

Marcie's heart jumped in fear of that scenario, and she glanced, angrily, at Anne. "No. Not again. I helped you take down a secret lair because I wanted you back in my life. Don't you tell me that I was just wasting my time."

"No, dear, but it's because we had to stop Quest that I have to go. He's not going to stop until he get revenge for what happened, and I would rather it was me he set his sights on, than you."

"I don't know if you've noticed this, Mom, but you're a girl, again," Marcie reminded her. "Even if you get away, how are you going to take care of yourself?"

"Well, I never said it would be easy," Anne muttered.

"I don't care about that. We beat him twice, now, and we can do it again until the police get a hold of him. I not going to lose you a second time," Marcie said, firmly.

"Then, how about this," Anne bargained. "You come with me. Let me look after you like I should have done, a long time ago."

"You were afraid that you couldn't care for me the way you wanted to, then."

"I know, but I'm not afraid, now."

Marcie could hear the desperation to convince in her mother's voice, along with a strange vocalization, nearby, like a moaning, or a sigh, within the car. She shook her head to dismiss it, for she was far too busy, with the here and now, to place it.

"Mom, I don't know if I can leave with you," she told her with a sad firmness. "Up and leaving, like this, couldn't possibly be the answer, now. Too much has changed in both of our lives, now, to allow it. I have friends, now, and a life with Dad. With Greenman and Quest running around, I have to look out for him. Besides, do you really want something like _this_ be the reason we're together, now?"

Marcie did have a point, Anne had to admit. _'Damn that Fleach logic,'_ she thought, then quietly answered, "No, I wouldn't." Too much time _had_ , indeed, passed.

Then, Marcie found herself starting to shake her head, once more, this time to fight off a sudden wave of fatigue that began to settle in her mind. She yawned deeply, as she tried to maintain her concentration on the road.

"Since I... _yawn_...have to be with Dad, why... _yawn_...don't you stay with us?" Marcie counter-offered between more yawning. "Who knows? _Yawn_...Maybe you two could get back together. Wow. Why am I yawning so much?"

Anne smiled and slowly shook her head at her daughter's hopeful, if unlikely, offer. "I love you for asking, Marcie, but I couldn't stay. I love your father, but I'm not in love with him, anymore. Tell me something. Is he still as cheap as I remember?"

Marcie frowned in disappointment. It made sense to ask. It was a question that was pivotal to her decision.

Something in her wanted to lie, and say that he was a changed man, worthy of reconciliation, but Marcie knew what it was. Her inner child, still clinging to the fairy tale of a happy, nuclear family. She had to prove to her mother, and more importantly, to herself, that her maturity could weather such a storm as divorce, and its bittersweet aftermath.

"Yes," Marcie quietly answered, in turn. "More than usual, these days."

"That's why I left him, Marcie, but I want you to always know that the one good thing in our lives, that connects the both of us, is you, and I think that's far more important."

Marcie gave a weary smile, as she fought to keep her eyes open. Her parents' love still existed. Even if it wasn't perfect, it was more than enough for her.

"It... _yawn_...doesn't matter. You're..." Then, Marcie's unconscious head lolled and fell on the steering wheel, just as Anne quickly reached over and stamped her small foot on the brake.

She then reached over to the spot between both seats, and picked up a round object the size of a small orange, that she had secreted, its tiny speaker emitting the sound of a human continuously yawning.

Anne pulled Marcie up off the wheel, so she could lie upright in her seat, and sleep more comfortably. Afterwards, she removed the protective buds from her ears.

"Yawn Grenade, my latest invention. But, you'll always be my _greatest_ invention," Anne proudly whispered, before giving her sleeping daughter a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Sadly, she realized that she hadn't done that in a very long time.

* * *

The sound of a passing truck, roused Marcie from her sleep. With a yawn and a sustained stretch, she awakened to see the open wetlands road that she traveled though, earlier.

The car was parked off to the side, and when she turned to regard Anne, in the passenger seat, it was empty.

"Mom?" she reflexively, called out, opening her door and stepping out to look for her.

Standing by the front of the VW convertible, Marcie could smell, and then, see, the column of black smoke, like a singular thunderhead in the blue sky, rising from the ruined mansion's direction, a dire marker to the continued destruction of Quest's underground base.

She looked up the road, scanning for any small figure walking in the distance, but the road was clear of all but passing cars and trucks. A look down the road proved to be no different, there was no one there.

Marcie never felt so lost. She wanted to call out to her mother, again, up and down the road, not caring if there was no one to answer. She could feel her inner child suddenly grip her maturity in a chokehold. It wanted to shred her world of self-control to pieces, and then hurl those pieces to the four winds, in a panicked fit. Where was Mom?

Her mother was all alone, now. Fending for herself against a madman who, no doubt, was simply biding his time, licking his wounds, and waiting for her slip up somehow, somewhere. She might have even had a ghost of chance, if she was an adult, again, but as a child, Marcie believed that her chances would be halved, at best, unless she was extremely savvy and street-smart.

But chances didn't matter with Marcie, now, anyway. She just wanted her mother safe and near her. And, again, that wasn't to be.

She could go to Daisy with her misery, and she would understand, or, at least, try to. But the one shoulder she wanted to cry on the most wasn't there, either.

Sick with hammering worry over her mother, Marcie reentered her car. That was when she noticed it, while wiping errant, unwanted tears from her eyes.

The old, fat folder her mother had been carrying with her. She hadn't seen it with Anne after their escape from Hadji, or after they evacuated with everyone else, which meant that it was left behind, and while she was asleep, Anne must have returned to her lab in the doomed complex to retrieve it.

If there had been a reason for such an action, Marcie was too shocked at her mother to see it. To risk her life, just for an stupid old folder filled more with pipe dreams than anything else, made Marcie so angry, she wished that their roles had been reversed, so she was the mother, and could give Anne a well-deserved punishment.

Not knowing why, she reached over and opened the folder, this time, hastily titled with the words, "My Legacy," in black marker, and sifted through its dog-eared contents, trying to understand why Anne did what she did.

As Marcie looked at another scribbled formula and another scrawled blueprint, she could gradually see the crazed passion of a thinker, of an inventor who didn't let failure deter her, in those pages. She couldn't help but proudly think of Anne as some determined young woman mixing test tubes in Man's Lab.

Then, the reason, as cold as death, and as warm as life and love, impaled Marcie through her confused, sad heart, with its diamond clarity.

"My legacy," said the reason, with her mother's voice, possibly the last thing she would ever say to her. "Now, _your_ legacy..." It didn't matter if _none_ of her inventions worked, Anne's folder would be the inspiration that would strengthen her, now.

In the end, Anne always knew what Marcie wanted to be. She was a scientist, body and soul, and Marcie, gladly, was one at heart. And because it all came from her mother, she could, one day, become a great scientist, in her own right.

Marcie didn't know if the word "gift" could do the folder justice, as she chuckled mirthlessly at the thought that between both of her parents, it would be the one who spent the least amount of time with her, that would understand her the best.

Velma would have loved her.

 _'Once again,'_ she sadly thought, as she started blankly beyond the windshield. _'The two women who matter most in my life are gone.'_

Alone, with her worries and thoughts of Anne Fleach, Marcie quietly wept.

* * *

"Where were you?" asked a very stern Winslow, after Marcie entered the living room, that early evening, and ran into him, there.

She was worn out from all that had happened and the drive back home. In the back of her mind, she knew, somehow, that her father was going to find out, and maybe thinking so pessimistically may have brought that about. One thing she knew for certain was that when she was interrogated by her father, she somehow found the necessary strength to stand, face it, and regret, or fail to defend herself, _and then_ , regret.

She would never have believed, however, that it was her dedication to school protocol that would betray her, in the end.

"Your teacher called and told me that you weren't at school today," Winslow continued. "She said that she wouldn't have called at all, except that she was concerned when one of her students, with a near-perfect attendance record, by the way, didn't show up. So, where were you?"

She debated lying to him, but what could have she have said that could excuse such a studious person, like her, from not going to school? Considering the fact that family was in the center of this, however, she decided to honor that.

"I was looking for Mom," Marcie admitted.

The surprised look on Winslow's face opened the door to years of affection and disagreements in his eyes. "Your mother?"

Marcie picked up on the soft emotion in his voice, a good sign that he was more nostalgic than angry at her. "Yeah. I tracked her down to Gatorsburg. She says hi, by the way."

"Why did you do that?" he asked, confused. At the moment, he had no reason to think that she would ever need to be back into his life.

"I ran into her a few days ago, so I decided to see her, again," Marcie confessed, couching it by not giving away too much information. "That was okay, wasn't it?"

"Y-Yes. That was fine," he said. How could it not be, he figured. Why shouldn't she know more about her mother? Any issues that had arisen were between Anne and himself. "But you should have told me about this, first. I...would have wanted to talk to her, too."

Marcie gave a small nod. She would have liked to have seen that, as well. See the chemistry that brought those two together, in the first place. Hear them laugh and reminisce about their favorite songs, and remind her about their time raising her together in the little time they had. Things that she couldn't enjoy, now.

"She's not there. She had to leave. On business."

"Oh." The sound of his disappointment was heart-wrenching, but he soon pulled through it and asked, to change the subject, "How did she look?"

So caught up in the thoughts of happier times with Anne, and being so quick to answer, Marcie blurted out, "Oh, she doesn't look a day over..." Then, she hesitated. She couldn't possibly tell her father that his ex-wife was now young enough to his youngest daughter.

Not being able to think out of the corner she just faux-pas herself into, she just concluded, by saying, "Well, you know how we girls are about our ages, Dad."

Winslow simply shrugged it off. Women will have their secrets, surely. "I guess so. Anyway, go wash your hands. It's time for dinner."

"Okay."

Marcie gave a grateful sigh and schlepped towards the stairs. So far, there had been very little drama, of late, and she liked it that way. But now that she was back home, the matter of the park still hung in her mind, as well. She might not have wanted to have it passed on to her, but it didn't mean that she wanted to see her father lose it, either.

"Oh, are you going to call the police about what Greenman's doing to your park?" Marcie casually asked, not seeing the emotional tripwire that she just clumsily snagged her foot into. "I know calling the sheriff for help is the last act of the desperate, but-"

"It's not my park anymore!" he snapped at her. "Greenman said that he'll use what you said in court to help win his trumped up lawsuit against me, if I didn't give my park to him. Remember?"

Marcie's stomach jumped, just as her heart sank. She just realized that she had thoughtlessly brought this up, and in so doing, _screwed_ up. But, now was as good a time as any to confront and figure out the depth of Greenman's scheme.

"I do," she said. "But when did I say all of these things that Greenman said I did? Before that day in the office, the last time we saw him was during that dinner he invited us...to." The pieces began to fall into place so hard, Marcie thought she would go deaf.

"Oh, no!" she deduced with some difficulty. "It's hard…to remember, but I think...we might have been drugged."

Winslow gave her a look of doubt that would have faltered the faith of a priest, but she continued.

"I mean, I think I saw you fall in your dinner, I mean, your *face fell into your dinner. Boy, that still sounds strange with me talking about being drugged, and all, but if I was drugged, too, then maybe, I...might have said things that I didn't mean to say."

Considering what he, now, knew about Greenman, her father decided to give Marcie the benefit of the doubt, but she wouldn't get off the hook that easily. "But you did say them, Marcie."

Marcie fumed within. What part of the word, "drugged" didn't he understand? "He had to have given me some sort of truth serum. It's the only way."

"Maybe, Marcie," Winslow countered, his voice heavy with his own personal suspicions.

"What? You think I _wanted_ that to happen? I would have _had_ to take sodium pentothal to do what I did to you. I love you, Dad. You know I would never consciously do anything to hurt you or the business."

"And yet, his tape recorder says different."

Inside, Marcie was furious at his stubbornness. She was beginning to see why her mother left him. Why couldn't she get through to him? "I don't care about his damn tape recorder! Why won't you believe _me_?"

"You watch your language, young lady!" her father warned with a point of his finger. "Besides, it was obvious that you, at least, thought those things about me, haven't you?"

"Yes," Marcie slowly admitted. The truth serum did release those things she had been hiding. "But, only because it's true. I'm sorry, Dad, but you _are_ cheap. Even Mom thought so. That's why she left you."

"Is that what she told you?" he asked, his indignant edges beginning to soften, again.

"Yes."

"Look, Marcie, it never hurt anyone to save money." Winslow sighed in explanation. "What other people, who don't work as hard as I do, call "cheap," I call "thrifty," "frugal," and "economical." Your mother never ran a business. She came from the big city and only had her career, in the police force, to worry about. She never understood my sacrifices."

Whether because it was getting to painful to relive, or just simple regret, Winslow stopped himself from dipping too deep into his failed marriage. The present needed his attention more.

"But, it doesn't matter any more," he muttered. "We'll just have to survive somehow. I just hope that the next time someone invites us over for dinner, you won't say anything that will have us living in the street."

The unfairness of that stung her deeply. "I don't believe this," Marcie yelled from the staircase. "That crook Greenman practically _told_ you that he tricked you, and even _you_ said that you didn't think that you were responsible enough to run the park, anymore, and you're coming down on _me_? I told you that I was sorry for saying those things. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to take over when I die, all right?" blurted the words that Winslow had only hinted at, for so long, like some gentleman who didn't want his private desires and fears broadcasted for others, or even family, to know. " _That's_ what I want you to do!"

Marcie hung her head low. She knew that his admission made him feel vulnerable, and perhaps, needy, but she had to remain resolute in her _own_ desires. If a scientific mind was Anne's gift to her, than, surely, stubbornness, was his.

"I told you. I don't think I want to do that, Dad," she said, softly. "I have a life that I want to live, too."

"To be a scientist, like your mother?" her father asked, in a huff.

Marcie hardened. After all that passed between the two of them, Anne deserved a defense from that. "If that's what I want, what's so wrong about that?"

"You're not siding with the parent who took care of you the longest, that's what's wrong with that!" Winslow said.

' _Was this what my folks went through when they argued?'_ Marcie thought, trying to reach him, still. "It not about sides, Dad. I love you. Isn't that enough?"

"You just love your mother more, isn't that right? You're so selfish, Marcie," her father said, his tone, stabbing a bitter dagger of ice through her. "A _son_ would understand."

Marcie stood stunned, and her head, out of shock, slightly shook on its own accord. She felt as if she was looking outside of herself, as if reality was a second language to her, replaced by a world of paternal hate. She couldn't try any longer. He had won.

"I'm sorry you...didn't get what you wanted," Marcie said, sadly.

Without another word, Marcie ran upstairs, drained from the events of the day, but vigorous or tired, she didn't want to waste anymore time with a man who knew he was tricked, yet still treated his daughter so cruelly.

In her bedroom, she pulled some clothes from out of her dresser drawers, grabbed her laptop and her picture of Velma, and, angrily, threw it all in a suitcase. One call from her cell phone, she had planned, and she would leave him, alone, with his beloved self-pity.

In the past, she privately prided herself in the thick skin her childhood had granted her, in never being too emotional. But now, she found tears still welling in her eyes, and her heart cracking apart, again. Those weaponized words hurt too much for her to shrug off, this time.

She didn't think about what she would have to do the next day. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

All she knew was that if Winslow Fleach had no place in his heart for her, then she would be damned if she had a place in her heart for him.


End file.
